The Boy Not Forgotten
by OCQueen
Summary: A story of Neville receiving a farewell mission from Dumbledore as well. FEATURING: Professor McGonagall, Great-Uncle Algie, a box, a dinosaur, and much, much more. I solemnly swear to complete this fic. Clean language.
1. A Mystery and A Forgotten Visitor

This story is slightly AU as in the Order trusts Snape enough that he can return to Hogwarts and continue in their ranks. Also many, many other little things, and a few big ones. Specific enough?

Planning to update every Monday and Wednesday for at least six weeks, then we'll see what my schedule is like. Oh, and guess what? The first twelve chapters are already written, while the rest of the story is outlined. HAH! I defy the god of procrastination. (Tomorrow.)

So let's get this party started, shall we?

**Chapter One- A Mystery and A Forgotten Visitor**

Neville walked dazedly away from the raised dais which no longer held Dumbledore's body, not paying any attention to the route his feet were taking and depending on the crowd's flow to bring him to the castle. The clouds rumbled and shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where to go next or why. Neville's thoughts wandered more than usual and he wished Dumbledore had left him with some sort of mission like the Three Musketeers, or at least an encouraging message of sorts.

"Longbottom. Longbottom!"

Neville's head snapped up suddenly, startled to see the Minister of Magic in front of him with his hand raised, looking as though he was about to shake Neville to get his attention.

Lowering his arm, Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "Ahem. Dumbledore left you something in his last will and testament. We had to perform the standard spells to make sure no Dark Magic was involved with it, but it's perfectly harmless. No hidden traps. No secret messages. Nothing." The Minister of Magic's voice strained at the last word and he looked even more frustrated than usual.

"Here," he said, letting out a deep breath as he took a clear glass ball out of his pocket.

Seeing that Neville was too startled to react in any way other than just to stand there and gape, he reached out, grabbed Neville's arm and shoved the Remembrall into his palm.

Neville picked up his hand and stared, mesmerized, at the globe's reflective surface as the Minister of Magic also gazed eagerly at it, hoping something would _finally _happen. He had walked around all day finding these witless students and delivering Dumbledore's possessions in the hopes any secret weapons or tidbits of information would show up.

After standing there awkwardly for a few seconds, he walked away muttering to himself, "Honestly, the lot Dumbledore left his possessions to! You'd think he would leave everything to McGonagall, or even Hagrid, but instead he goes bestowing trinkets upon every student that ever walked through his door. Kids who have no appreciation for being remembered in the last will and testament of the only Supreme Mugwump to ever receive a First Class Order of Merlin AND his own chocolate frog card! What rubbish..."

_Hm,_ thought Neville. _So Dumbledore had left him something. It was probably a hidden message of some sort, or there was a code to crack…_ He glanced over at Hermione; she was always the expert at solving these kinds of riddles. In fact, she was the best at solving any kind of riddle, really. He saw her standing with Ron off to the side, eyes red and puffy, and immediately felt a pang of sadness dissipate his hopes. He slipped the sphere into his pocket and headed for the castle chin a bit higher, knowing he had a whole summer ahead to spend on solving the mystery.

Neville lay spread-eagle on his bed, exhausted from the train ride back from Hogwarts. His gran had made him some caffeinated tea, which helped a bit, but didn't push away the persistent headache he'd had ever since receiving the Remembrall. Neville frowned. Isn't that how Ginny had felt when she had Tom Riddle's diary? What if Dumbledore really had accidentally left him a Dark Object, like Scrimgeour had suggested? But no, the Minister of Magic hadn't suggested it was Dark, he had said they had performed spells to check if it was Dark, which all came out _negative._ He snorted, entertained at the thought that he was now relying on the Ministry to have actually been reliable in making sure children didn't get their hands on dangerous objects unsuitable for anyone from ages 9-99.

It was starting to seem likely after a few hours of trying to trick the glass globe into revealing whatever Dumbledore had hidden in its depths that it was nothing more than a copy of the one his Gran gave him, which he'd left at home this year.

He started playing with the Remembrall, tossing it up and grabbing it out of the air, pretending he was Harry making the game-winning play in Quidditch. He had done his only three times when his bedroom door slammed open and a tall, tan man strode confidently in, almost making Neville drop his sphere in surprise.

"Great-Uncle Algie!" he gasped, sitting up as his uncle walked over to the bed, picked him up and gave him a hug even bears would wince at.

"You didn't forget I was coming, did you?" boomed Algie, mussing his hair. "No wonder there weren't any flowers for old uncle Algernon downstairs, like usual."

"I guess I did forget," admitted Neville glumly, staring at his empty Remembrall. Uncle Algie was the person responsible for bringing out his magic and often acted towards him as a father- Neville hated disappointing him, but with so much going on this year he had forgotten the yearly ritual of bringing back flowers from the Hogwarts greenhouse (with Sprout's permission, of course).

"That's alright lad," said his great-uncle, sighing. "I figured that once you got older you would be too busy with the lasses to give the man who risked his life getting you a Mimbulus Mimbletonia for your birthday the time of day. I'm certain you don't even have it anymore; you probably gave it to one of your many female admirers," he concluded, wiping away a fake tear.

"The Mimbulus is in our backyard right now, and that's not why I forgot!" said Neville hotly. "I don't have any of that going on, I forgot because-" here he paused, repeating wonderingly "I _forgot."_

"Yes," said Algie impatiently. "We already got to that part of your fragmented sentence."

"No you don't understand, I FORGOT!" said Neville, laughing as he hugged his great-uncle, who was starting to look nervous. "I forgot, I forgot, I forgot!"

"Indeed, that is quite the accomplishment," said Uncle Algie, patting Neville on the head as if he was a five-year old.

Neville looked up at his uncle, deciding whether to confide in him. His uncle's eyes, the color of earth, reminded him who he was thinking about: the most steadfast, loyal friend he had (besides Gran) who had been a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. His grin grew broader as he reached a decision.

"My Remembrall's broken," said Neville simply.

"Well, we can always get you a new one," replied Algie, relieved. "Although I never _did_understand the point of those things. All they do is rub in your face that you've forgotten something, with no specifications at all. Rather obnoxious, if you ask me."

"That's not the issue!" said Neville excitedly, feeling his tiredness fall away as he got up and practically threw the clear sphere in his uncle's face. "Dumbledore left me this Remembrall! He must have put a secret message in it or something, somehow! That's why it won't work! They already checked, it doesn't have any Dark Magic on it, but that doesn't mean they missed some Light Magic done on it. Dumbledore was a genius, he must have figured out some trick to make sure only I would or maybe even _could_open it."

Algie was opening his mouth, about to reply that maybe the spells the Ministry performed to detect Dark Magic accidentally removed the magic already on the ball when he saw the shining light in Neville's eyes and thought better of it.

"You're saying that he sealed something in there that only you could get to, right?"

Neville nodded eagerly, practically smothering his great-uncle in trust and expectations.

"Well," said Algie, standing up and stretching. "I guess it's time for round two then."

"Round two of what?" asked Neville as his uncle started casting unintelligible spells on Neville, unsure if the glint in his uncle's eyes was a good thing. Strike that- he decided he was sure the glint was a bad thing as Algie picked him up and started walking. That was the same glint he had when he almost got Neville killed…

…by dropping him out the window.

For a moment, Neville enjoyed the view. "I should probably look out my window more often, it really is a breathtaking garden when seen from above," he mused. But then, of course, all that came out was a terrified "AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Floomp.

Neville hit the grass suddenly, but instead of crunching into it with all the force of a speeding bullet he sank into it softly for a few seconds, the impact dispersed so it was no more than jumping off a meter-high wall. His face less than two centimeters away from his Mimbulus, he picked up his head and spat out some torn-up grass.

"Once wasn't enough? I am going to _kill_you Uncle Algie!" He shouted at the man staring detachedly out his window, causing his great-uncle to smile.

"Nice to see you finally got some backbone, kid," called back Algie. "But don't you think you should check on that Remembrall of yours? Or should I say- your box?"

Neville turned himself over and sat up, surprised to find his Remembrall replaced by an ordinary wooden box with a medium-sized, perfectly round keyhole and no other opening. He turned it over, looking for an inscription, and on the bottom found

_Not always is the treasure found in gold_

_Nor wisdom found solely with the old,_

_Some keys aren't fluffy and pink,_

_Some locks open only with stink._

_Please solve this riddle with all haste,_

_But make sure you are safely spaced!_

_~APWBD_

Algie also jumped out of the window, having apparently also done the protection spells on himself since he landed lightly next to Neville and read the message silently.

"Well it seems that-" he started, but Neville cut him off.

"Oh come on, even I can solve this," said Neville exasperatedly. "The first half is just Dumbledore's nonsense and the plant he's talking about was right in front of my face two minutes ago. Move back please."

Algie merely raised a brow in reply, but obediently walked to stand behind a tree as Neville balanced the box precariously on top of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia so one of its boils was poised to squirt directly into it should the plant suddenly come into any danger. He smiled; his great-nephew was getting less clumsy by the day. Neville joined him behind the tree, and then cast his spell.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

A small branch broke off the tree and floated towards the Mimbulus, then poked one of its boils gingerly. And the world exploded into a canvas of black.

"Wicked!" said Neville, as fascinated by explosions as any other teenage boy (although he usually caused them by accident). He picked his way through the grass back to the box hurriedly, his great-uncle right on his heels, and lifted the now-black box up carefully.

All at once he felt the cool tip of a wand held against the back of his neck and heard his uncle's voice, now menacing, say, "Under orders of the Minister of Magic, I hereby claim possession of this unregistered box and its contents."

Please review, if possible! A great 'thank you' to NevemTeve for the constructive criticism! Much appreciated.


	2. Two Men, a Box, & a Mimbulus Mimbletonia

**Chapter 2 –Two Men, a Box, and a Mimbulus Mimbletonia**

Neville froze, and immediately started tearing up.

"Uncle Algie, how could you?" he choked out, as he felt the wand being removed from his neck.

"This is payback for not bringing me back flowers," Algie replied matter-of-factly.

"You're taking away Dumbledore's gift to me because I didn't bring you flowers?" asked Neville, confused and now starting to become angry as well. His great-uncle took one look at Neville's face and burst out laughing.

"Oh Nev , I freaked you out as payback for not bringing flowers. I 've been waiting ages to pull that one, since everyone knows I could never work for the Ministry; I'm too Hufflepuff for them."

"Meaning you're a duffer?" asked Neville innocently.

"No, meaning I'm smart enough to know the best revenge is friendship, smart mouth" replied his great- uncle. "Now let's open the box already!"

"Oh. Right."

Neville lifted the lid of the box and found a note. Not a riddle or rhyme, as was usually the professor's style, but an honest-to-goodness letter. He almost fainted from shock.

"Well, go on," said Algie, nudging him. "Read it."

And Neville did, imagining Dumbledore reading the note to him in his aged, infinitely wise voice.

_Neville, _

_I know it may have come as a shock to you that I left you something, moreover a gift as valuable as you'll discover this to be after finishing this letter. You know I've always thrown Harry into the limelight; but what you don't know is that I also took great pains to keep you out of it. You are just as brave, loyal, and inventive as Mr. Potter- that, however, is why I wanted to have you stay less known, more of a secret weapon, if you will. You are a pureblood as well, which he is not, and that counts for much in the eyes of a lot of people involved in this war. _

_Getting on with things: as a result of your seeming normality, I knew the Ministry would not be keeping as close a watch on you as the other people I trust in the war, so you were my best bet in who to give sensitive information as well as who to trust with a mission just as important as Mr. Potter's (though in a different way). Before dying I had a lot of time to think (yes, I do know I'm going to die. I made Snape give an Unbreakable Vow to kill me; it's quite an interesting story. You should ask him to tell you about it sometime.) and I realized that like most wars in history, this will probably end with a large-scale battle. My best bet is the battle taking place at Hogwarts, with us Defenders of Justice (as I call the Order privately) inside and Voldemort's army advancing from the Forbidden Forest. _

_Read this next line closely, I believe it quite important. THE TREES ARE PORTKEYS. There are a few thousand glass boxes in a large camping site between Ireland and Bulgaria , and I am the Secret Keeper for that area, which I have named Diddly Squat. This is your invitation to that area, along with anyone you show this to. Make sure to keep this paper hidden, or burn it after showing it to McGonagall and anyone else you believe needs to see it, for we wouldn't want a repeat of your third year, but I trust your judgment of people. The Portkeys are now inert and the glass boxes have a special charm to enlarge as needed exactly, meaning no wriggle-room for any people using the Portkeys, and the inside is lined with a special potion Severus cooked up to put even a fully grown troll to sleep, though not a giant- regretfully, I had to arrange the magic to ignore giants for they are just too impossible to take care of and according to Hagrid all the giants there most definitely want to be so. _

_There is a moleskin pouch in this box if you haven't seen it yet, don't try digging around in it to find things, just use Accio. Its contents? An empty Pensieve, one of my favorite robes, three flasks of Polyjuice potion (1 hour each) and three of my hairs. This is another reason I entrusted this to you and not young Mr. Potter: he has dealt admiringly with most obstacles thrown in his path, but as of yet cannot think rationally when confronted with death. I daresay this is because he has been confronted with it far too often for a healthy teenager, yet I digress. I know Mr. Potter would not do this while you, perhaps because you are confronted with the realities of war far longer through visiting your parents, hopefully can. I don't want any more people than is necessary to die, Neville, and certainly no innocents. I need you to take the potion and impersonate me in order to assure the men that the Portkeys will take them to safety, as well as hopefully intimidate some into leaving instead of staying to fight us. _

_Most importantly, I keyed the Portkey wards and spells into the Polyjuice potion, meaning that when using it you can activate the Portkeys instantaneously, and maybe even divert their course if needed (but you should probably practice that). Hopefully some wizards may be so spooked by the sight of a revived Dumbledore that they faint. How I would love to see that happen to Lucius. Ah well. _

_My bedtime draws ever-nearer, and I must finish this soon. I forgot to say, good job on opening this. I have developed a knack over the years (through necessity) of finding keys which only one person could unlock, and knew you would definitely drop this at one point, despite how much you treasured my last gift to you. And only your mind would automatically skip to your Mimblus Mimbletonia whilst the Aurors would be stuck trying to figure out the first line for weeks. If you are an Auror reading this and not Neville, please disregard this message as well as the pouch. It's just the ramblings of an old man and a bag of lemon drops, you know. _(This past line had a Compulsion Charm so strong upon it that it practically glowed.)_ And now, I bid you adieu. I do hope my death was as elegant as it was dramatic. Get Professor McGonagall's help and return to school as soon as you can to train more. Maybe you could try becoming an Animagus? Don't forget Moody's advice: CONSTANT VIGILANCE! _

_Oh, and Good Luck. _

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore _

Neville finished the note with tears in his eyes and pulled out the moleskin pouch.

"Accio hair. Accio polyjuice. Accio Pensieve. Accio robes." He said carefully, and looked at the objects laid out on the grass before him for a long moment before putting all of it back with the letter in the box and closing it, not realizing it would lock itself again. Which it promptly did, as Neville groaned.

"So," said Algie brightly. "Up for a visit to McGonagall for the next few months to give your Gran time to get over how we ruined her garden with your shenanigans?"

Neville looked around at the black, smelly ooze covering his Gran's petunias, tulips, lilies and roses, not to mention the trunks of a few fruit trees.

"Erm, yes. That sounds like a very, very good idea."

"Shall it be the Hog's Head then?"

Neville wrinkled his nose. "Really?"

"I don't go for the food, I go for the company," said his great-uncle defensively.

"That doesn't make it any better," Neville muttered, but reluctantly acquiesced. Two pops later, that garden was less two men, a box, and a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.


	3. A New Chapter! Or Old, I guess

**Chapter 3- An Old Friend and a Patronus**

Neville and Algie appeared in front of the Hog's Head without warning; a thing that would have caused havoc in the Muggle world, but in Hogsmeade caused nothing more than a stern talking-to about not Apparating onto people's new shoes by an elderly witch with pink hair who was oddly reminiscent of Augusta Longbottom. Once she was finished they walked into the bar and sat down at a table in a dark corner (which almost all the tables were), waiting to order.

"So what'll yeh have?" asked the bartender gruffly, not looking up from his pad of paper and quill. Neville looked at his great uncle, who didn't seem inclined to respond, and said, "Two glasses of milk, please."

The silver-haired old barman looked up sharply then. "Are you making fun of me, boy?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"N-n-n-no," stuttered Neville, unnerved by the man's piercing gaze.

"It's a tradition for us to have a glass of milk a day together," said Algie languidly. "His Gran positively _insists _on it."

"Algernon?" asked the barman incredulously, only noticing the large man after he spoke.

"Yes, hello Abe-"

"Shhh!" whispered the man, cutting him off. "We'd better go to my room and talk."

He led them behind the bar and through a heavy wooden door, attracting glances from all around the room and turning around to shout, "And don't any of you even _think_ of taking free drinks while I'm gone or I'll feed you Gillyweed and leave you to asphyxiate in on land." And with that, the door slammed shut and they followed him to his private quarters.

Closing and locking the door behind them, magically as well as with a key, and then performing a few spells for privacy, the oddly familiar man turned to face them.

"Algernon, it's great to see you," he said warmly, patting him on the back three times and then once on the head.

"Flamingly wonderful indeed," agreed Algie. "I've missed you Aberforth Dumbledore."

Neville looked at them confusedly.

"Recognition code 5," explained his great-uncle.

"Oh, so his name _isn't _Aberforth Dumbledore," said Neville serenely.

"No, the code was how many times we blinked when speaking to each other. I am Aberforth Dumbledore, brother to the one and only Professor Brian Dumbledore," replied the man, who looked more like the Headmaster the longer Neville stared at him. "Look, I even have the goats to prove it; they're just in a different room."

"So that's why this place always smelled like goats," mused Neville, taking in this entire scenario pretty well. He had overloaded his shock quota today and seemed to find relief in the one mystery solved.

"Aberforth," said Algie seriously. "Neville needs to get to the castle as soon as possible. He has an extremely important job."

"Oh don't tell me my brother sent him off to kill some troll wandering around the dungeon before he died," said Aberforth exasperatedly. "Why is he always doing that? Kids should stay out of trouble until they finish their NEWTs at least and have a life to risk."

"Actually, I'm going to be doing something that will hopefully give anyone wanting to escape the last battle a chance to do so," said Neville, unsure how much he should tell to this stranger.

"But you can't expect me to use the secret passage for something like his. Besides, it's broad daylight!" said Aberforth, punctuating his sentence with a frown.

"Oh heavens, no," said Neville's great-uncle. "I just can't send Minerva a Patronus telling her Neville needs to see her, as she doesn't know me. I need you to give her a message: Neville Longbottom has to be escorted from the Three Broomsticks to the castle. Add a medium-level urgency code to it, if the Order has those."

"How do you know about the Order?" asked Aberforth as he sent away his Patronus, a shimmering image of a goat filled with light.

"Simple," said Algie, smiling broadly. "I turned down the invitation to join it."

Neville stared at his uncle as a glowing cat padded elegantly into the room and opened its mouth. McGonagall's voice floated out.

"An escort will be there for Mr. Longbottom within five minutes. This had better be good news." The cat flicked its tail once and vanished.

"Well Neville, it seems you had best be going then," said Algie, settling comfortably into the only chair in the room.

"Wait- you aren't coming with me?" asked Neville. "Then why did you come with me to Hogsmeade in the first place?"

"I had to make sure you found a way into the castle, but I'm not going to coddle you," retorted his uncle sharply. "I was never a fighter and never want to be, but I just know McGonagall would drive me to join her if I came with you. You should have seen us at Hogwarts, she was the most reckless witch I ever knew and she always dragged me into doing nonsense with sheer personality." He paused, contemplative. "Actually, there were usually cookies involved, as well. Make sure to send some of those to me by post, if you could. You have less than four minutes to be in the Three Broomsticks, by the way," he ended casually.

"Oh, bugger!" exclaimed Neville, almost tripping over the throw rug on his way out.

"A good kid," commented Aberforth approvingly.

"As good as they come," agreed Algie. "Do you suppose he'll realize I transfigured his possessions into buttons and put them into his pockets before the one-hour limit wears off? I forgot to mention it to him."

"If he meets up with McGonagall, surely," replied the barman. "So would you like some goat milk?"

"That would be rather nice, yes."

"Just a moment, I'll close up shop and bring out the nice china," said Aberforth, following Neville out the door as Algie shuddered. He knew that for his old friend, nice china meant the cups and plates washed at the end of each month. And today was the fifteenth.


	4. Back to Hogwarts

Chapter 4

Neville puffed his way through Hogsmeade, running into the Three Broomsticks just in time to hold open the door for Professor McGonagall as she arrived.

"Neville, it's wonderful to see you," she said, eyes turning up at the corners as the normally stern witch smiled. "I'm so happy you've agreed to come back and help with the greenhouse, Sprout is going quite out of her mind with work."

"Hm?" said Neville, trying to take in the fact that this was the same witch his great-uncle had just claimed went on all his escapades with him without letting it show on his face. "Oh- er- yes, I'm just glad to be of use. Herbology is my favorite subject anyways."

"Of course," said McGonagall, worry disappearing from her eyes as Neville played along. "Now come along, we have much to do and no time at all to do it in."

She walked briskly out of the tavern with Neville following on her heels like a lost puppy, and in what seemed like no time at all (which was good, since McGonagall had said that was how much time they had), they were in the headmaster's office.

"Okay Neville, now you can undo the Transfiguration spell cast on those buttons in your pocket," McGonagall said. "And tell me what on earth is going on! Not that I'm not glad to see you, of course."

"Of course," echoed Neville, feeling around for buttons in his pocket that he was sure weren't there before he left his house. To his surprise there were three buttons there, which he took out and handed to Professor McGonagall.

"I suppose you didn't perform the spell on these items?" said Professor McGonagall, curious. Neville nodded his head in the affirmative, and she placed the buttons carefully on the floor a good distance from each other, herself, and Neville.

Raising her wand, she muttered a long string of words in Latin and performed a complicated bit of wand-waving before the buttons started to shake and, glowing, transformed themselves into a box, a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and an unnaturally large bouquet of asters. McGnagall picked up one of the flowers and smelled it, smiling. "Patience indeed," she said, smiling to herself, then turned to Neville. "I'm assuming your great-uncle Algie arranged all this but refused to come himself?"

Neville nodded, and explained the whole story to her starting from when the Prime Minister handed him the Remembrall. McGonagall listened intently and got quite excited, then helped him set up the room with charms to divert all the black ooze neatly into a bowl when they set off the Mimbulus to open the box.

Looking through the wooden box, McGonagall realized that Neville had been trusted with something momentous. "Are you sure you want to do this? I'm certain we could find someone from the order more than willing…" she trailed off, anxiety leaking into her tone.

"No," said Neville, confident for once. "I know I can do this, and every other Order member probably has more than enough work already."

"Alright," sighed McGonagall, wondering how on earth Dumbledore sent teenagers off on missions like this routinely. "To keep up with the cover you'll spend your day working with Sprout in the Greenhouse, from 9 AM to 4 PM, with a lunch break in between. You'll eat all meals in the Great Hall, along with the other staff here for summer."

"Who else is here?" asked Neville, curious.

"Professors Sinistra, Trelawney, Pince, Slughorn, Filch, Babbling, Firenze , Vector and, of course, myself," she said conclusively.

"Oh good, that means Snape isn't here," Neville said, relieved.

"Oh, did I forget to mention him? He's also here," said McGonagall casually and Neville winced. "In your nights I will teach you how to act as Dumbledore as well as how to control the wards when you are polyjuiced as him. May as well teach you a couple of surprises to spring on the Death Eaters when we finally have our dramatic showdown since we have no idea when that's going to happen and, as Dumbledore said, you can make a quite competent secret weapon."

Neville's ears burned from her praise but he managed to eke out a request for being taught to be an Animagus as well.

McGonagall stared severely at him before exhaling deeply and replying, "Well, we might as well chuck all the Ministry's rules out the window since we'll probably end up having to fight them as well. I've always viewed the law on registering Animagus forms as complete rubbish anyways, since all sensible people learn how to become one as early as possible and would keep it a secret as long as they could. I myself learned to turn into a cat when I was two years younger than you, and only registered when I became a teacher at Hogwarts- about ten years later, I believe. Your 'Uncle Algie', as you call him, still hasn't told anyone his Animagus form, though I believe in his case because it's rather useless and he's ashamed of it."

Curious, Neville asked, "What is it?"

McGonagall smiled mysteriously and replied, "Trevor."

Seeing Neville's disbelieving look, Professor McGonagall explained. "He gave you a real toad for your birthday, but in your third year he came back from the holidays with you. I suppose you were too busy always chasing Trevor to realize the markings on his back had changed slightly. A toad is slow, highly conspicuous, and enjoys eating flies- all of which combine to make sure your uncle hardly uses that form and doesn't tell anyone about it. Of course, since he's told you that we were the original Marauders I'm assuming you're privy to this information as well. And no, I cannot read minds, I put your uncle dropping you off together with your reaction upon seeing me and discovered that two plus two is four."

Taking in this new information and putting it in the file in his brain labeled "things to think about" (a file that was rapidly filling up), Neville asked to be shown to his rooms. "Really, Neville," said the temporary headmaster exasperatedly. "How do you expect me to get absolutely _everything _ready within ten minutes of receiving an urgent, vague message? I suppose you could choose where to stay yourself; Professor Flitwick probably wouldn't mind you borrowing one of his rooms."

"Er, I don't think his bed would fit me. Could I just sleep in the Hospital Wing? I'll ask Gran to send me some clothes and if you could just set up a cabinet for me to keep my things there, it would be great."

"No problem. In fact, if we move all of the extra beds into an unused classroom until school starts, that would make an excellent dueling space as well; the potions to heal any injuries you might retain would be immediately available. I'll just tell the house elves to set it up for you," said McGonagall calmly, pretending not to notice how Neville's complexion had noticeably whitened at the word 'injuries'. "Now let's tell Professor Sprout her assistant has arrived, shall we?"

"Winky!" she said, and a house-elf with large, watery eyes immediately appeared. "Please prepare the Hospital Wing for Mr. Longbottom's residency, which will begin today. Move all of the beds to an empty classroom with the help of some other elves, find an unused cabinet for his clothing, and then visit Mrs. Augusta Longbottom and tell her that Mr. Longbottom is staying at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer and would like some clothes. Neville, it would help if you could write a packing list instead of just standing there."

She offered Neville her desk, and he penned (or is it quilled?) a short list of clothing and other necessary items, for once confident that he hadn't forgotten anything. In fact, lately he felt as though he was forgetting things far less often in general, which was a good thing as he would need all his wits about him to have personal lessons from McGonagall. Still, using the Pensieve Dumbledore gave him seemed like a fantastic idea at the moment, especially since he couldn't write any of this down in case he misplaced it, while a Pensieve was pretty impossible to lose (although he wasn't challenging his luck).

As soon as he handed Winky the list she disappeared with a crack, and he started heading down to the Greenhouse with Professor McGonagall.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **just wanted to remind you all that review would be greatly appreciated. And I hope you enjoy reading! I'm actually rereading the 7th book now to make sure there are no (unintentional) inconsistencies. I made Harry, Ron and Hermione not be the only ones to get things from Dumbledore, and thought it would be wise of him to just give out many, many different things to random people to throw the Ministry off his tail. This also means keeping all of the objects for the Ministry to examine for thirty days would take way too much resources, which is why you see Neville getting his Remembrall the day of Dumbledore's funeral.

Any guesses for the future or recommendations/ constructive criticisms are welcome! Have a great day


	5. A Noisy Letter and Dinosaur Pajamas

**Chapter 5- A Howler and the First Lesson**

The rest of the day went smoothly. It was already 6:30 by the time he started speaking to Sprout, where he and McGonagall gave the public version of why he was in Hogwarts as well as the private one. They had already decide that between the four of them (Neville, McGonagall, Algie and Sprout) they had all the people who needed to know and, for once, a secret mission announced by Dumbledore would stay secret.

They all headed back to the castle together, where the Great Hall was set up as usual for a time when there were very few people: one table just long enough to fit everyone staying at the castle. Neville wondered if the table automatically expanded and contracted according to the amount of people on the grounds, but was distracted by the appearance of a cherry tart before he put too much thought into it. It was the first dinner after all of the students leaving, and the house-elves had outdone themselves- though by now Neville thought they had outdone themselves so many times it was more like they had lived up to their reputation.

Neville had a nice conversation with Professor Babbling about Chocolate Frogs and whether they should make them in different animals, and was pleased to find most of the staff was at the dinner and very welcoming. The only one who hadn't shown up, in fact, was Snape.

After a hearty dinner he headed to the Hospital Wing, even remembering to skip the trick step, and arrived to find his trunk there filled with all his necessities, along with a few extras. Like the Howler which exploded into is Gran's shrieking, "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? LEAVING WITHOUT A WORD- I SHOULD HAVE _KNOWN _NOT TO LEAVE YOU ALONE WITH UNCLE ALGERNON. AND THE STATE OF MY GARDEN AS WELL! NO SNACKS FROM HOME FOR THE NEXT WEEK!"

Neville winced at the anger in his Gran's tone but smiled at the end of her message. He knew everyone at school thought his Gran too tough on him, but she was really a big softie at heart. He was reminded of this when he found another note inside his bag, this one sternly telling him never to do something so rash again, but also saying that she loved him and wished him luck in helping with Order business (which is what McGonagall had apparently told her). And that she was proud of him for finally getting the gumption to do something rash, but he shouldn't get himself killed in the process.

He put the note back in his trunk and turned around, hearing footsteps. A long black cape and hooked nose framed by lifeless black eyes greeted him with a "Five points from- wait, school's out. What on earth are you doing in my castle?"

Neville ignored that Snape was calling Hogwarts _his _castle (the nerve!) and, calming himself, explained that he was to help Sprout with her plants as Snape gave him a look that said he wasn't buying one word of it.

"So you're here to help Sprout."

"Yes."

"And you went home for only a few hours before returning because you wanted to have the bonding time on the train with your friends and see your home one last time before coming here for the year, I suppose."

"Yeah," said Neville not-so-suavely. He hadn't even thought of that!

Snape gave a piercing stare and then said, "You are quite lucky I am one of the Dark Lord's numerous unintelligent followers and think your paper-thin excuses rational. Stay out of the dungeons if you want to keep it that way." And with that, he briskly strode away.

Neville gazed after him open-mouthed. Had Snape just been… civil? (For him, anyways.) And he had helped Neville with forming a cover story. Neville smiled, and almost laughed aloud. So far, operation PEA (Portkey Everyone Away) was off to a flawless start.

Neville had already brushed his teeth and was already in his pajamas when he heard a knock on the door. He opened it, yawning, to find Professor McGonagall outside. He glanced at her stern face, then down to his dinosaur-printed pajamas that had been charmed to grow with him from age 5, and then back up to her face.

"Please don't tell anyone about this," whispered Neville, face burning.

"Change into something decent so we can get started already, I only have two months' nights completely free to teach you and then I'll have to take care of the school almost singlehandedly," said McGonagall, making sure to keep her eyes focused solely on his face.

Neville went to the restroom and changed into a pair of plain black pants and a shirt, the same with his robe. He only buttoned the top of his robe, feeling rather dashing as it swooshed behind him dramatically when he walked out. McGonagall sighed.

"Neville, take that ridiculous thing off unless you have a conventional reason for wearing it."

Minerva's eyes widened as she realized something that wizards had overlooked for centuries: cloaks can be conventional.

"Is that dragon hide?" she asked, examining the cloak as Neville miserably handed it to her.

"No, it's imitation. My dragon hide cloak is hung up in the closet."

McGonagall pulled out the heavy cloak and turned it inside out.

"Wear this one."

"But it's inside out!"

"Just put it on!"

Neville complied and McGonagall spent a minute cutting off the tags telling which spells to use for cleaning the cloak as well as the temperature water one should use if one wished to wash the cloak more carefully. When she was done, in dim lighting it looked like just another ordinary cloak. Neville buttoned up the front and McGonagall was pleased to find it went don to his ankles, with only his head unprotected.

"Professor, not to be rude, but shouldn't we be working on improving my dueling skills? Or keying me into the wards or something?"

"I've stayed alive this long through he war by always preparing things when there's time hand instead of waiting for the last second and then forgetting or not having time. It's also how I got all Outstandings on my NEWTs," replied McGonagall distractedly. "This should protect you from most spells when you're polyjuiced as Dumbledore and talking to hundreds, maybe thousands of Death Eaters. Because of course they'll try to kill you in the few minutes you'll be out there. We just have to figure out how to protect your head- you can ask your grandmother for dragon hide boots, maybe as a congratulatory present for your first personal adventure. Do try to get black, if you can."

"Yes, Professor," said Neville, awed by McGonagall's foresight. He had always been so busy looking up to Dumbledore that he had never even realized how talented she must be as his 'right-hand man' (of sorts); he couldn't help noticing she was very, very wise, and a bit Hermione-ish.

"Now change back into your other robe so you'll be used to the weight on your shoulders and I'll teach you how to make wards of your own. The type of Tranfiguration your uncle performed on the buttons was a ward of sorts, keeping the objects repressed to a small amount of space. The same kind of repressing ward might be keeping the Portkeys in stasis by drawing on the large amount of natural magic in the forest. I think it's what Dumbledore cast on the box, as it drew on the magical power of whoever was nearest to it to keep it hidden. Did you feel tired, or have any headache when around the Remembrall for too long?"

Neville nodded, remembering that he had thought the object might be Dark because of it. How wrong he had been!

"Let us begin."

McGonagall began with the basics, handing Neville a teaspoon and teaching him the proper words to charm it so that no one could touch it except himself. Surprisingly, Neville was expected not to use his wand; instead, he had to use his magic and create a living net of magic around the item. It was a very complex bit of magic, but McGonagall didn't tell Neville that no one attempted it until they had taken their NEWTs and were out of school. She knew that although it should have been impossible for Neville to master warding small objects in less than a month and a half, telling him so would not help things at all. It was one of the few things she recalled from various forages into Muggle literature, from a book called "The Ghost's Tollbooth", or something along those lines.

By 11:30, Neville was practically falling asleep but heroically kept up his efforts to ward the spoon. McGonagall had forgotten how stubborn he could be and gently took the spoon away from him.

"That's quite enough. You've done excellently, Mr. Longbottom."

"But I didn't _do _anything! I just sat there for three hours concentrating, and was finally starting to get my magic to form some kind of sphere when you tell me to stop!"

McGonagall was startled. He was able to create a circle of protection already?

"Try one last time, then," she said, keeping the surprise off her face as she bequeathed him with the spoon. Neville screwed up his face in concentration for one last, long minute, and then opened his eyes.

"It should be there."

McGonagall reached out and touched the handle, waiting for a shock of some sorts…

But nothing happened.

Neville's face drooped and he handed over the spoon glumly. "I was sure I had it, Professor," he said.

"If wards were created simply by effort and sheer force of will, I'm sure you would have," she replied kindly, as she put the spoon back into her bag. "In the meanwhile, I have some old sketches and diagrams from when I was a student learning the same thing. They might be helpful."

Accepting the comfort as well as the neat bundle of papers, Neville walked the Professor to the door.

"Thank you, I'll see you tomorrow. I promise I'll do better."

Professor McGonagall was starting to rethink not telling Neville about how long it usually took people to master what she was attempting to teach in two months, and patted him lightly on the back.

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Longbottom, and trying your best but not accomplishing what you wish is part of life. Keep it up and I'm sure you'll be sending innocent Death Eaters to freedom in no time."

Neville smiled at the thought, and the Professor left.

"Lumos."

It was time to start reading. His bed seemed a comfortable place to do so, and he settled in, back in his dinosaur pajamas. He was asleep by 11:40.


	6. In Which Neville Drinks Coffee

**Chapter 6- In Which Neville Drinks Coffee and Loses His Manliness**

"Mr. Longbottom. Mr Longbottom, you must wake up!"

"Professor McGonagall?" Neville asked blearily, sitting up.

"No sir, I's Winky! Sir must get up! Sir must be with Miss Sprout in fifteen minutes!"

"Fifteen minutes?" said Neville incredulously, and he ran to get dressed.

"Winky is putting sir's breakfast on his table! Professors McGonagall said sir must wear light clothing!"

Neville looked down to find he had dressed himself in the first thing that came to hand: his dark, heavy clothes from the night before. Muttering to himself he sent Winky out of the room so he could change into a green shirt and blue overalls, then scarfed down breakfast, trying to wake up. He grimaced at the drink she had given him- it looked like mud. He cautiously tried a sip and almost spit it out. This was disgusting! He saw sugar and a pitcher of milk, so poured liberal amount of each in and tried it again. Hm, that was much better, and now he was wide- awake. Maybe it was some kind of anti-tiredness potion?

He ran down the staircase and this time did get caught on the trick stair, but used Wingardium Leviosa to levitate himself up and the slowly down onto the next stair without tripping.

_Good to know I've learned something since first year_, thought Neville grimly as he raced down the staircases, through the hallways and to the greenhouse. Or, more accurately, PAST the greenhouse. He was so energized he had forgotten where he was going for a few moments. Breathing heavily yet still very animated, Neville practically bounced into Greenhouse Three.

"Good morning, Professor Sprout! Sorry if I'm late! I'm not late, am I? McGonagall was really nice and gave me this awesome potion that tasted like mud at first but then I added sugar and it tasted delicious and now I'm really, really awake and so excited, I love Herbology! I should have thought of coming in the summer earlier. Do you think I can write this in my resume after the war? I want to go into Herbology somehow. The weather's gorgeous today!"

Professor Sprout stared, gobsmacked, at a sight she had never imagined in her wildest dreams: Neville Longbottom high on coffee.

"Mr. Longbottom," she said, slowly lowering her Flitterbloom back into its pot. "Would you be a dear and run back outside for a moment?"

"Sure! It's pretty outside!" he said enthusiastically as he left. Sprout sighed and resigned herself to making her second Calming Draught of the day.

"Here, Neville, drink this," she said, stepping outside after a few minutes brewing.

"Thanks!" said Neville enthusiastically. "It's really hot outside so I probably should drink something, you wouldn't want me to faint in the middle of repotting a Mandrake, right? Wow this smells delicious!" And then Neville took a sip, and quieted.

"Yum."

After drinking the whole cup, Neville looked much more stable and Sprout was willing to let him back into the greenhouse.

"What was in that potion, powdered moonstone?" asked Neville eagerly. "It was delicious!"

Sprout let out a laugh. "Longbottom, what you just had was a fine blend of Bailey's Irish cream, milk, cinnamon and nutmeg. It's a little secret Madame Promfrey, Snape and I keep to ourselves."

Neville smiled. "I really am excited to be here, you know."

"I know," said the short witch fondly, remembering Neville's first class, where he had been so nervous he accidentally sat on one of the plants. Since then, however, he had shown he was a dab hand at Herbology, probably helped by his Grandmother's excellent garden and his great-uncle's enthusiasm for the subject. "It's good to have a helper so I can finally harvest some Snargaluff pods properly."

"Are you sure we should harvest them with only two people?" asked Neville nervously, and Sprout smiled gently at him.

"Well, I _was _considering having each of us work on our own, but I decided working together would be more efficient. Don't worry, I trust you completely."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," said Neville, a smile twitching onto his lips as his favorite Professor led him to a small working table and gave him her extra pair of dragon hide gloves.

"You can borrow these whenever you need to," she said. "It's the least I can do for having you be my slave all summer."

"I already told you, I wanted to come. Besides, I'd be doing the same thing at home, just in Gran's garden."

"We'll see if you keep that optimism after a few weeks," Sprout said mildly, but Neville caught a challenge in her tone and grinned.

"You're on."

They spent the next few hours harvesting Snargaluff pods, and finished just in time for lunch.

"You welcome to stay for tea and sandwiches or go up to the castle, whichever you prefer," said Sprout, taking off her gloves and not letting the tiredness of those hours of work show on her face. She definitely wasn't getting any younger, and it would have been even worse if Longbottom hadn't volunteered to be the one to keep the branches in check after he saw her wince holding open the first Snargaluff for him to grab the pod. She had no idea where on earth the boy got his energy from, but felt a familiar pang of sadness that he hadn't been sorted into her house.

"I'd rather stay here for lunch, thank you."

"I was hoping you would say that. Follow me, you'll enjoy this. McGonagall and I have wanted to make one of these for years."

She led Neville out of the greenhouse and into Greenhouse One, where he had spent all of first year taking care of plants even less harmful than poison ivy. She opened the back door and Neville was introduced to a world of color. They had set up a butterfly house.

"Good afternoon Neville, it seems as though you've been enjoying yourself," said Professor McGonagall serenely, waving her wand to lift the teapot and have it pour clear brown liquid into her cup as a Monarch butterfly alighted on her bun.

Neville could practically feel the manliness he had built up over hours of manual labor wrestling the Snargaluffs dissipate into nothingness the longer he gazed at the wonderland of roses, tulips, snapdragons, and many other flowers whose names he couldn't quite remember though they were on the tip of his tongues. Butterflies of various colors, sizes, shapes and markings flitted about, their sheer number blocking much of the artificial sunlight the professors had set up to filter into the room. The cups even had kittens on them, and the biscuits were in the shapes of hearts.

"Well? Take a seat!" said Sprout, ushering him in as McGonagall summoned a chair from the pile in a corner. Neville was happy to see she had brought him one of the few light green chairs that seemed to be made completely of leaves instead of the ones with pink blossoms on them, and as he sat down she also summoned an extra teacup and plate for him. With kittens on it. Neville wondered whether the professors' close friendship was based more on their secret love of girly things than their mutual dislike of Dark Lords.

He sat down, and politely said in no uncertain terms that he was not going to drink tea out of a cup with kittens frolicking on it, but he would like a biscuit very much, thank you.

"Oh, you poor boy," said McGonagall, eyes widening. "I completely forgot, Umbridge's collection must have traumatized you. Here." With another wave of her wand the kitten prints were gone, replaced by tumbling puppies. Neville felt the need to protest her misunderstanding and demand remove the puppies from his cup (he was feeling quite self-assured after several hours of good, solid, work) but had the mishap to look the puppy in the eyes. It's cuteness was practically hypnotizing.

So instead, he happily munched on the biscuits and drank some tea.

"Why haven't the house-elves ever brought these to a feast? They're delicious!" he exclaimed, almost knocking over the vase of asters in his haste to get more deliciousness.

McGonagall's eyes twinkled in a way that would have made Dumbledore proud. "That's because I made these cookies, Mr. Longbottom. Without magic, may I add."

"No wonder my uncle wanted me to send him back some," said Neville, nodding wisely. "Oh, wait! I forgot to tell you: my uncle wants me to send back some of your delicious cookies!"

McGonagall and Sprout laughed. "That's quite alright, Mr. Longbottom. I have time for another batch tomorrow, and they won't be heart-shaped next time."

They finished their tea and had some sandwiches with pumpkin juice, then Neville and Professor Sprout headed back to the Greenhouses and McGonagall headed back to the castle.


	7. Progress? Perhaps

_This chapter has been brought to you by the letter 'P' and the number '42'. And viewers like you!_

… _Oh, who am I kidding. It's been brought to you by ME, and Me ALONE! Mwahahah!_

_Thank you to all those faithful readers, and even more so the very, very sporadic viewers. You guys keep me updating instead of just writing it on paper and leaving it there._

**Chapter 7- Progress**

That night, McGonagall rapped on Neville's door at eight o'clock.

He opened the door prepared and dressed in his cloak, excited to try warding the teaspoon again. He had read over her notes for an hour, gone on a walk, and then read through them again and actually understood them- but he felt like the information was already slipping slowly out of his head, piece by piece. Blasted memory.

He was greeted by the sight of her standing there with furrowed brow, and she swept into the room even more briskly than usual.

"I haven't been thinking straight what with all the war preparations and… our losses," she admitted as she sat down on a chair near his bed. "The plan I told you yesterday won't work."

Neville shut the door and cast Muffliato just in case, then walked over and sat on the bed. "What do you mean it won't work? Dumbledore left me this job, he knew that I could handle it, and I thought yesterday that you believed in me too, finally…"

McGonagall took in his pained expression and wringing hands, feeling inexplicably guilt-ridden though she had only treated him as she had every other student throughout the years.

"Mr. Longbottom, I meant we had to revise our strategy, not decide to throw it out the window. We have reason to believe that Death Eaters will be running the school next year."

At Neville's stunned silence, McGonagall continued.

"There is a chance these Death Eaters will be Legilimens. And no matter how small the chance-"

"If there's a possibility of their reading my mind, no plan will be safe," said Neville, eyes widening with fear. "McGonagall, what do we do? Are you going to Obliviate all my memories of our meetings and give someone else the job?"

"Longbottom, do calm down," McGonagall snapped. "We are not doing anything even near so drastic; you'll be having lessons in how to defend your mind from a man who has honed the skill over many years of intense practice." Neville thought this sounded suspicious; bringing someone in to school to tutor him privately was too conspicuous, and he could think of no one in the school who might be skilled enough except…

"Snape," he whispered, horrified.

"That's _Professor _Snape," said McGonagall chidingly. "And you would do well not to disrespect him in your lessons, as I hear he is rather harsh. I would teach you myself, but my days are growing evermore busy so I can now only meet with you two nights a week, which we will devote to your warding skills and, eventually, mimicking Dumbledore."

Neville's breath hitched at the mention of the wizard's name, and he noticed that McGonagall had unusually dark and deep bags under her eyes. No matter how much he had looked up to the man and enjoyed spending time with him, his Professor had been through infinitely more with him and also been burdened with the daunting task of helping reorganize the Order after his death.

"Two other nights will be spent practicing dueling with Flitwick, and one night you will have for yourself. Although Professor Flitwick is obviously trustworthy and an excellent person overall, we have already agreed we are telling no one else of your task so I simply asked him to train you as a favor, since you're helping Sprout so much and asked me for help preparing for the war in return. Snape does not know any details either, other than you have some sensitive information we don't want Obliviated from your mind- though there's no getting around his probable discovery of the truth during your lessons, so I allow you to tell him whenever you want. I can give you the confirmed schedule tomorrow, but can already tell you that you'll have Saturdays as your nights off- meaning tomorrow. Now let's see how much progress you've made on your warding."

McGonagall observed him as he scrunched up his face in concentration as he had the last time, upset that she couldn't monitor his progress in this type of magic in any other way than to test the effects. It was a mental kind of magic, meaning it was the hardest to teach to others as well as to attempt since there were no visible mistakes to pick up on.

"I'm done," he said finally, face relaxing a bit.

She reached out to take the spoon, not expecting much of anything to happen, and as she touched the handle, nothing did. She realized now, however, that last time she had not checked the entire object for warding, only the handle, and proceeded to prod different parts of the spoon with her fingertip. She picked up on nothing until she reached the bowl of the spoon, where Longbottom had been holding, and suddenly found herself hitting the door of the Hospital Wing with a thud and felt nothing more.


	8. Neville and a Compromising Situation

_Random explanation: McGonagall only corrects Neville's way of addressing Snape since he's a bit unpredictable in what will upset him. But Neville should call his previous headmaster Professor, and I'll change that next week hopefully since I'm very busy this week._

_Thank you so much for reading! Sorry, this chapter is extremely short. I'm thinking of uploading the next chapter this weekend, but haven't decided yet… Ignoring all that, I hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 8- In Which Neville is Caught in a Compromising Position**

"Professor McGonagall? Professor McGonagall?" asked Neville, cautiously approaching the woman lying prone on the floor. One moment she had been checking his spoon carefully, and the next he had felt something flare up in his ward's plan in his mind, causing him to push out the strange presence automatically. "Oh man," he said, finally reaching her as he realized what he had done: he had just slammed the most important (and, odds are, powerful) person in the Order of the Phoenix into a wall, and knocked her out. Even worse, he had no idea who to bring her to at this time of night!

He walked over to the window and looked out to see if Sprout had a light still on in one of the greenhouses- it was only 8:15, so she might still be working. He was delighted to see that she did, and so walked over to his dresser, picked up his wand, and hesitated a split second before whispering "Wingardium Leviosa."

Of course, now he had to open the door with his left hand while concentrating on the spell enough to prevent McGonagall from falling to the floor, and in his worry this took him a few minutes. Finally out in the corridor, he edged backwards down the staircase, wincing as McGonagall's leg accidentally hit a framed picture of a girl sitting on some sort of stool and eating porridge.

"Why I never-" she huffed indignantly, before noticing a spider sitting beside her and leaving her frame, shrieking.

"What exactly is going on here, Mr. Longbottom?" asked a silky voice, and Neville turned around, a pit of dread developing in his stomach as he saw who was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, eyes glittering darkly and looking like a bat who had just found a particularly juicy fly. But Neville saw this expression flicker uncertainly as Snape laid eyes on the floating shape behind him.

"What are you doing with Professor McGonagall?" he asked menacingly, drawing out his wand quickly and pointing it straight at Neville's face.

"Well, we were practicing…" Neville said, then remembered that McGonagall hadn't told Snape anything, but had said Neville could tell him whenever he wanted; he doubted she meant in the halls where anyone could eavesdrop on them, though, so told Snape they needed to go to a secure place for Neville to explain.

Snape nodded reasonably, and lowered his wand. "Sure, but would you mind putting down your professor first? Carefully?"

Neville agreed, relieved, and at the moment she touched the floor saw a bright red light headed his way.

Neville tumbled down the steps and Snape caught him neatly by the scruff of his neck. He cast a levitation spell on McGonagall almost casually and headed down towards the dungeons, dragging Neville behind him as Professor McGonagall trailed along obediently.


	9. Apologies and A Change of Plans

_A/N: Only three more chapters left before I have to start continuing to type up this story! You guys are so spoiled. Anyways, hope you all had great weekends. I love all you guys! (Except you. Yeah, you, the one with the goatee and the sunglasses on indoors. You're just weird.)_

**Chapter 9- Apologies and a Change of Plans**

"Ennervate."

Neville's eyes flew open and he looked around frantically, looking for Snape.

"Good to see you awake," said McGonagall kindly, sheathing her wand back into her sleeve and shooting Snape, who was brooding in front of the fire, a severe look.

Neville swallowed and tried to talk, though his first words came out a bit raspy.

"You _stunned _me!" he said indignantly, glaring daggers at Snape.

"You had knocked one of the Professors unconscious and then started carrying her towards the castle's exit. Of course I stunned you," replied Snape smoothly. "I thought you were a polyjuiced Death Eater or under the Imperius curse."

Neville thought for a moment and immediately calmed down, realizing that Snape protecting the school was a good thing. Besides, it's not like he'd cast an Unforgivable at Neville, although he did feel a tad bruised for some reason. Maybe he had fallen down the stairs when Stunned?  
"Snape, that isn't what we agreed you would tell Mr. Longbottom when we woke him up," snapped McGonagall peevishly.

"Ah, of course. I was just testing whether Mr. Longbottom's ability to be rational was as undeveloped as those of his friends," said Snape, and then continued in a sickly-sweet tone. "I DO apologize, Mr. Longbottom, for stunning you with no warning. I know that a person of your cowardice nature-"

"Severus! You know the stunning was perfectly fine, and there is no need to state your opinions on Longbottom's vices or virtues in an apology." Neville agreed, but hadn't noticed any virtues being stated.

"I apologize for pulling you by your collar down to my office," said Snape lowly, practically sulking. Which explained the bruises.

"I forgive you," said Neville uncomfortably, shifting into an upright seated position.

"And for binding you to a chair and blindfolding you, though you were unconscious at the time and I put you in a more comfortable position once I heard your story from McGonagall," continued Snape, as though he hadn't heard Neville at all. Neville opened his mouth to say he forgave him again when Snape continued, "and not realizing that I could simply cast 'Rennervate' on McGonagall at the staircase to find the truth, meaning that all your bruises could have easily been avoided." He stared at Neville, as though challenging him to not throw a fit of anger, but Neville was simply confused.

"Professor, it's fine, I forgive you. It was an easy mistake and I only got a little bruised. Besides, it came out of wanting to protect McGonagall, and I hardly consider that a bad thing."

"No," said Snape slowly, looking at Longbottom as if in a new light. "My worst decisions have never been made when trying to protect others. Now could you two please get out of my office?"

Happily, Neville complied, with McGonagall following after, muttering about her loads of work to catch up on. Entering their room he realized that she hadn't explained what on earth had happened a few hours before.

"Professor, what did I do? I'm so sorry!" he said, also realizing he hadn't apologized at all for somehow knocking her headfirst into a door.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Longbottom," she said gently. "All that happened was your wards worked."

Neville's jaw dropped.

"You mean I succeeded?" he asked, voice rising in excitement.

"You warded something, but only by make skin contact with it; we have quite a ways to go before I could say you've succeeded in mastering the act," said McGonagall calmly. "But yes," and here a kind smile. "You have done extremely well. Goodnight Mr. Longbottom, and enjoy your night off tomorrow."

Neville nodded numbly, and collapsed onto his bed immediately after she shut the door.

"Never thought I'd see the day McGonagall told anyone except Hermione they had done 'extremely well'."

The next morning Neville came down to breakfast and had a pleasant rapport with Professor Sprout and Firenze over whether having a section of lawn dedicated to teaching students how to grow things outside of Greenhouses as Firenze had a cake made of what looked like mostly grass, with them all agreeing in the end that it would be much too easy for students to sabotage each others' projects or even steal them. Snape was still nowhere to be found, and the day went much like the previous except trimming the Devil's Snares turned out to be even more perilous than the previous day's task. He had lunch with the Professors again (feeling that this was going to turn into a tradition) and received his schedule- Sundays and Fridays were Snape's territory, Mondays and Wednesdays were Flitwick's, and Professor McGonagall had Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mornings were dedicated to being in the Greenhouse with Sprout, even on Saturdays, but Saturday nights were his own- not that he knew what he was going to do with them besides sleep.

Neville stumbled back to the castle later than usual, at six o'clock, having volunteered to stay later since he knew he had the night off. He scarfed down a quick dinner and headed upstairs, intent on getting an extremely good night's rest, when Snape slid out of the shadows of a hall to his left. "Be in the Potions classroom in ten minutes for your lessons," he hissed, before preparing to sink back into the shadows.

"But I thought our lessons were supposed to be tomorrow!" said Neville loudly, forgetting they were also supposed to be a secret.

"Sshh! Something came up," said Snape, eyes narrowed. "And if you don't care enough to rearrange your schedule for our lessons, you obviously don't really need them."

"I'll be there," whispered Neville determinedly, ignoring a persistent throbbing in his left knee. Snape stepped back into the shadows, glittering eyes watching Neville as he departed.

_Snape is such a creeper! Anyways, if you enjoyed please click on the quadrilateral at some point below this to review- I enjoy reading your reviews as much as you enjoy reading this! Bye for now~_


	10. A Revelation and A Choice

_LOOK. It's a chapter. Just for you. What's over there? At the bottom of the page? It's a review button, tailor made to fit your computer. Look again. The button is now a rectangle. Anything's possible when you review a story._

_I'm on a horse._

**Chapter 10- A Revelation and a Decision to Make**

"Creep," muttered Neville under his breath as he unlocked the door to his room and then locked it again behind him, quickly changing into a clean set of light robes and performing the few quick cleaning charms he had learned to use after working hours steeped in dirt in his grandmother's garden and then brushing his teeth, before unlocking the door, and then locking it again behind him and tucking the key, hung on a string, back into his robes. He had made it the previous night after dinner with a string cut from one of his more worn-out pair of (clean) socks, still feeling guilty for letting Sirius into the dorms in his third year, though he had turned out to be a good guy.

He then headed downstairs quickly, checking his watch as he walked into the Potions classroom: he was right on time.

"How good to finally see you," sneered Snape, looming over his desk as always.

"I'm on time," said Neville, mustering up the courage to speak in his own defense for once.

"If you were dedicated to learning the most you can in our time together, you would have been early," snapped Snape, and then stopped, taking a deep breath. "Take a seat."

Neville automatically sat in the seat in the back row, farthest from Snape, making Snape roll his eyes and stalk over, cape billowing, to stand beside the table.

He muttered a quiet spell and waved his wand, keeping it suspended in air for a few seconds before lowering it, and Neville found himself in a deeply cushioned, large armchair, with a matching one facing him across the table.

"Just in case anything goes wrong which, knowing you, it will," drawled Snape, lowering himself elegantly into the chair while Neville was struggling not to drown in his, impeding his ability to be indignant. "Now since McGonagall already explained the entire real situation to me last night when I 'rescued' her," he smiled wryly. "I thought we could start immediately. _Legilimens!_"

Neville suddenly found himself reliving his childhood. He was wrapped in something soft and there were people babbling and cooing incomprehensibly, one familiar voice shouting triumphantly "It's a boy!" as a bright white light glared down at him through his closed eyelids. Then, just as unexpectedly, he was sitting down in a high chair and laughing as a woman tried to convince him his applesauce was a train, spitting it out onto his tray and delighting at her frustrated expression.

And then everything went dark.

"Longbottom. Stop playing, I know you're awake, there's no way that potion didn't work. Get up already, I don't have all night to pamper you with my valuable attention," came a voice from somewhere near Neville's head.

"God, do you hear the way you talk about yourself?" said Neville groggily, picking up his head and then widening his eyes as he realized who he was talking to, but Snape chose to ignore his comment, seemingly preoccupied.

"You didn't tell me you had been Obliviated," he said sharply. "How can McGonagall expect me to work with such a broken mind, teach you to defend it from the Dark Lord, no less?"

Neville was surprised; McGonagall hadn't told him she was expecting him to be able to learn how to defend himself against even the Dark Lord. And he had never been Obliviated!

"Professor, I've never been Obliviated," said Neville confusedly, and Snape looked down on him with something akin to pity for a split second before holding out a silver flask. "Drink."

"What is it?" asked Neville, unsure whether taking an unknown potion from Snape was such a good idea, though Snape could, of course, easily lie to him.

"A Calming Draught."

"Bailey's Irish Cream, right?" asked Neville knowledgably, causing Snape to raise a brow as he downed the mixture in one gulp.

"Right. We can't do any more tonight, so just get to bed. You've overworked yourself at the greenhouse today; you shouldn't have said you were available tonight."

Biting back a retort that he hadn't wanted to but had been intimidated into it, Neville merely nodded and headed back to bed, too tired to do anything other than fall into bed and go to sleep, fully clothed, at only 9:30.

Neville awoke at 8:00 to a beeping continuing incessantly near his head and reached his hand up, groping until he found the 'off' button on his alarm. Wait, his alarm?

He picked his head up groggily and found a magical alarm clock with a broomstick on the face flying around happily. The note on top simply said, "Winky won't always be available to wake you up" and was signed Professor McGonagall. Neville smiled sleepily and plopped back into bed.

"WAKE UP!" screamed a blood-curling voice and Neville shot up like a rocket, finding the postscript he had missed saying it had a sensor attached to his bed and would try many different methods of waking him up until it found the weight gone from his sheets. He got dressed quickly and headed downstairs, where he sat down to eat breakfast happily. And found Snape directly across from him.

Unsettled, he ate and talked little, Snape watching him the whole time as though he were some rare new potions ingredient he had never seen before. Then he ran down the steps and worked out his anxiety in the greenhouses, Sprout excusing herself from their lunch halfway through to do some paperwork ("I _am _a teacher, after all, no matter how hard I try to forget it,") and leaving him alone with Professor McGonagall.

"Are you aware," said McGonagall conversationally, "that you have been subject to an extremely powerful Memory Charm at a very young age?"

"What?" pronounced Neville carefully, happy he currently had no tea in his mouth to spit out in shock.

"I'll take that as a no. As you are eighteen, and of age, I find myself responsible of telling you that as Snape read your mind he discovered that when you were around eleven moths of age, a powerful witch cast a very complex Memory Charm, removing less than half-an-hour's worth of memories."

"How do you know? And can't it have been a wizard?"

"Snape is very… skilled at reading minds in more than just one way," said McGonagall, and then was silent for a moment before continuing., "and we suspect your grandmother was the one to cast the spell."

Sitting back, head reeling, Neville found himself unable to utter anything except a strangled, "Gran?"

"The spell has affected your memory quite badly, and the Ministry knows of no way to reverse Memory Charms. It will be extremely difficult for you to learn how to hold your own against any mildly talented Legilimens, and impossible against Voldemort."

Neville no longer flinched at the name, used to it from years as Harry's friend.

"But why would she…" he trailed off, remembering what had happened when he was a baby, and McGonagall looked at him grimly.

"She probably thought it would have traumatized you. There's no excuse for her not telling you when you got older, however, and I'll be talking to her about that soon."

Neville gave a faint grin, imagining someone trying to lecture his grandmother. "So there's nothing I can do?"

"The ministry knows of no legal way to reverse the charm," said McGonagall, looking at him intently.

"So there's an illegal way to reverse it and you know how," said Neville.

"Close," she answered, smiling. "I know of a way to reverse it that would probably be illegal if they knew about it."

"Why?"

"Because most things turn illegal when there's a possibility they'll interfere with the Ministry's more underhanded methods," said McGonagall mischievously. "Though people they don't want to stay Obliviated mysteriously recover."

"Let's do it."

"Neville, I'm not going to talk you out of this but I do want you to understand you're going to recover some very painful memories. Hopefully the other damage done to your brain will also be recovered, but you never know. Also, since this is going to repair a memory deep within the recesses of your mind, it can hurt."

Seeing Neville was simply waiting to be told what to do, she added,

"A lot." At that he winced a little, and she handed him a red pill which he immediately swallowed.

"That doesn't hurt so much," said Neville thoughtfully, and then his face contorted in agony. "Oh man," he said, before crumpling into his chair. McGonagall sighed.

The boy was making her far too impulsive. She supposed he took after his grandfather that way, she thought wryly before levitating him to bring him back to his room. He was going to get little enough rest over the next few days that he needed all he could get now, especially with his new memories; Professor Sprout could manage without him for a few hours, and claiming the boy had fainted from exhaustion wasn't such a stretch since he hadn't been drinking close to enough water for all the strenuous work he had done that day.


	11. A Letter and A Stubborn Git

_GUYS. This is the second to last update before I have to actually have to start typing up new stuff, aka probably more sporadic updates (Though I'll do my best!)_

_Have you ever forgotten you wrote something in one notebook, then written a different scenario in a different notebook and had to choose between the two? Silly Neville and the infinite interesting ways to train him._

_Lastly, in overlooking this chapter I realized I am in LOVE with parentheses :swoons:_

**Chapter 11- A Letter and a Stubborn Git**

Neville woke up in the dark, confused. Where had his mother gone? Widening his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness, he heard his mother's voice and gave a small cry, trying to get her attention, but she didn't open the door like she always did when he cried. Instead he heard her and his father screaming for a few seconds until the sound stopped abruptly.

Panicking, he started crying in earnest until he had bawled himself hoarse, when he heard a clunking noise and saw a weather-beaten man's face as a beam of light shot in.

"Well, that's one lad we don't have to worry about," grumbled Mad-Eye Moody as he picked up the boy like a football and walked him out of the closet.

Neville gurgled up at Moody. As a baby, he didn't wonder why it was raining indoors onto his powder-blue pajamas, or why this man had a large bandage wrapped around his eye. He was just happy to be on the way to seeing his parents.

Neville woke up at midnight and found a small table with dinner on it right next to his bed. He pushed it away, slightly nauseous; he was happy McGonagall had left him to sort out his feelings but overwhelmed and confused by the sudden influx of information.

After stewing in his thoughts for a few minutes, he realized there was a much easier way to meditate and got his Pensieve out of his closet. He then drew his wand to his temple and concentrated on his memories, tapping his wand back onto the glassy surface once he was done and watching the scenes play through only once, flinching when he heard his mother start screaming, then deciding he wanted to find out more about what had gone on. McGonagall was probably not the best person to ask (as she hadn't been there), so he quickly realized that one of the few sane- in a manner of speaking- people who would know everything he needed to find out was Moody.

Neville mustered up the courage (which was getting easier to do with all the times he had needed to within the past week) to go up to the Owlery and send a message, since he had been tucked into bed fully clothed and wanted to know he had performed a concrete action towards resolving the bits of mystery around his parents' attack.

Neville took a piece of paper, a quill, and an inkwell out of his trunk and scrawled out a neat message asking Moody if he could tell Neville what exactly had happened the night of his parents' attack. Hesitating slightly, he also wrote a careful thank-you for saving Neville's life and trying to save his parents. He rolled up the scroll and decided he should make it a bit more official, so he also took out wax and his family's stamp. He heated up the wax by setting a scrap of paper on fire with _Incendio_, applied it and sealed it, waving it to help it cool down faster. Slipping into his shoes, he was off.

Up at the Owlery, he was thankful for his cloak, light as it was, because the temperature had dropped some twenty degrees since he was last outside. He called down a nondescript owl from the rafters and tied the letter to its talon, telling it to find Mad-Eye Moody. He had no idea how owls always knew where their recipients were, but trusted the method as they had once found his Uncle Algie when he was hiding in a cave near Durmstrang (it's a long story).

Watching the bird fly away, he grew silent and gazed at the stars, in a shock of sorts, before shaking himself and heading back down the stairs for bedtime.

On the second floor, however, he happened to glance down the staircase and saw the school doors open, admitting a hunched-over, cloaked figure who staggered into the building clutching his left arm, doors letting in a long ray of moonlight before swinging shut.

"Professor Snape," said Neville, startled, and the man straightened up slowly, hood falling to reveal lank hair and empty eyes.

"I believe you should be in bed," said Snape coldly, his imperious manner somewhat ruined by his obvious struggle to let go of his arm.

"And I think you should too," said Neville, jogging down the staircase in one of his rare moments of not being clumsy. "Are you okay? Do you want me to get McGonagall, or something from the Hospital Wing?"

"I know how to take care of myself quite well," replied Snape through gritted teeth. "Go. To. Bed. NOW."

Neville reluctantly made his way up the stairs and slammed his door loudly, then crept back to the staircase and watched Snape limp, face ashen and hand still gripping his left arm, out of the hall before finally heading back to sleep.

Stubborn git.


	12. A Delicate Job

_A/n: a quick post before going off to babysitting. Reviews help give steam to my writing train! I love you guys, thanks for reading, quesadillas are delicious. And not in 's dictionary for some reason_

**Chapter 12: A Delicate Job**

The next morning Neville woke up bright and early with his alarm clock's first blood-curling scream still ringing in his ears. At breakfast he saw neither Professor McGonagall nor Snape, and he hoped she was helping him with whatever had happened last night despite his protests. No one should have to go through the pain he saw behind Snape's eyes alone. It was Monday, the day he would have his first lesson with Professor Flitwick, and he waved cheerily at the man from across the table. Professor Flitwick, of course, beamed back and gave him'discrete' thumbs up which Neville took to mean he was as excited to teach him as Neville was to learn. After a relaxed breakfast of traitorous eggs (which was what he had taken to calling Eggs Benedict privately after reading about the American spy of the same last name), juice, and a few pieces of toast he was jogging downstairs, excited to get started on the day's work.

Arriving at Greenhouse Three, Sprout handed him a pair of earmuffs.

"Repotting mandrakes?" asked Neville, wondering why she didn't just use second years again.

"No, this is a job that's a little more delicate," said Sprout, putting the earmuffs snugly on her head. "Planting them."

Confused, Neville shrugged but put his earmuffs on as well and followed her into the greenhouse. There were rows of female Mandrakes on one side, and pots half-filled with soil on the other. Since McGonagall couldn't exactly _tell _him how to plant them, she picked up a female Mandrake and pointed to what looked like a small rock with moss growing on it nestled snugly in the Mandrake's arms. Neville nodded and she wrenched the stone off the fully grown, screaming Mandrake, then dug a small hole in the pot opposite it, put the stone in moss-side up, and closed it. Neville nodded again to show he understood, and walked down to the end of the line so he and Professor Sprout could meet in the middle without getting in each other's way. It was simple: all he had to do was wrench this stone out of the Mandrake's arms. Except that the more Mandrakes he picked up, the more humanlike they seemed. And as he wrenched away the small, egg-shaped stones, they started looking more like babies.

Only his trust in Professor Sprout's integrity and Hufflepuffs as a whole, basically, kept him going. By the time they met in the middle (after planting over 200 new Mandrakes), he was hot, tired, and drained emotionally as well. So they went to the butterfly house, of course, where Sprout told Neville that McGonagall wouldn't be joining them.

"I felt like we were ripping babies from their mothers' arms," said Neville bluntly as Professor Sprout took her first sip of tea. Coughing heavily, she managed to keep it down.

"What?" she sputtered, confused.

"Those Mandrakes- they looked so much like mothers. How can we pull their babies away from them? Even worse, how can we kill them to make potions?"

Sprout looked at him worriedly, hoping he wouldn't turn into one of those nutters who refuse to eat vegetables or have any potions because they claimed that plants had 'feelings' and 'rights'. "Neville," she said gently. "Those Mandrakes are in pots with a limited amount of soil. If we didn't move those Mandrakes, either the babies would suck all the nutrition from the mother plant until she died or the mother would inadvertently kill the sapling through starvation."

Neville winced, glad he had trusted Sprout's decision. "But still, how do we know they _aren't _just like humans, but plants?"

Resisting the urge to point out that whole question was self-contradictory, Sprout actually gave the idea a thought. Of _course _the Mandrakes weren't self- aware. There was no way the Ministry would approve killing them that way, and over the thousands of years wizards had been using them for healing no one had spoken against it- that should be proof enough. She said as much to Mr. Longbottom and was surprised to see him look her square in the eye and ask, "Do you mean to say there is nothing wizards have done wrong for two thousand years straight? Because I can name about ten things off the top of my head, right now."

Flustered, Sprout stared silently at him. She's never been one of those crazies who run around hugging trees, but the boy had a point- and she was most definitely going to look into it.

"Let's just finish up today's work and I'll see what I can find out about it later," said Sprout calmly, waving her wand. "In the meanwhile: sandwich?"

_A/N: Sorry it's so short! Upcoming chapters should be interesting, I'm excited to get to the really meaty/ absolutely insane bits._


	13. In Which Snape is a Baby

**Chapter 13- In Which Snape is a Baby (Figuratively)**

Neville decided to go for a walk after supper, and at 7:30 came back into the castle to tidy up his room and make sure his floor was clear.

He changed into black pants and a cloak, thankful for the charms regulating the castle's temperature so he was not boiling in his clothes. Otherwise he would probably be rethinking the pros of fighting in a cloak versus the con of having to train in it while he melted instead of laying on his bed comfortably.

At eight on the dot Professor Flitwick knocked on the door and walked in while Neville was in the process of getting up.

"Stand up," he squeaked sternly, and Neville followed his order with a straight face. Flitwick then walked in a circle around Neville slowly, staring at him.

"You're a good height, and probably have good arm strength from all the work you have done in the greenhouse, so you need a little legwork and you're fine physically," he observed. "But let's get started on an endeavor that will show results a bit more quickly."

Neville grinned. Finally, he was starting off with something exciting!

2 hours later, Flitwick finished lecturing Neville on his lack of self-confidence.

"It's fine to pretend being weak as a ploy to throw your opponent off-guard, as long as it's _only _a ploy," he finished seriously. "Now there is a very important exercise I want you to do twice a day, maybe even thrice a day if you can."

"What is it?" asked Neville eagerly. Was he supposed to practice spellwork until he fainted? Run around the lake? Read books on ancient techniques of fighting? Wrestle the giant squid? Okay, the odds of that last one were pretty slim, but…

"Say out loud 'I am smart, I am strong, I am confident."

"I am smart, I am strong, I am confident… now what's the exercise?"

"You just did it. The exercise is saying that out loud," Flitwick replied as though it was obvious.

"Um. Okay, I guess," said Neville, clearly dismayed. "Who do I have to say it to?"

Flitwick laughed. "Longbottom, you don't have to say it to anyone except yourself. You could say it here or there, in a house, with a mouse, in a box, anything! In fact, you should probably say it right after I leave. Which is," he paused to look at Neville's alarm clock, "five minutes ago. I'll see you on Wednesday. Don't forget the homework!" he added, closing the door behind him.

"I won't forget," replied Neville to the empty room. "Not anymore."

It was simple. Flitwick had told him to say he was strong, smart and… and… brave. Yes, brave. Neville didn't really get how this had anything to do with the long-winded talk on his self-confidence, but-

Oh.

"I am strong, I am smart, I am confident," whispered Neville to himself before activating his nightlight and going to bed.

The next morning McGonagall was at breakfast but Snape wasn't, and though curious Neville decided to wait until after their night class to ask how it was.

That morning he helped prune Flitterblooms with Professor Sprout as she pointed out all the ways to tell it apart from a Devil's Snare. Not that there were that many.

"These tentacles are more of a twilight blue while the Devil's Snare is more of a summer midnight sky blue," she said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, while Neville merely nodded and resolved to just keep away from both Flitterblooms and Devil's Snare if he ever came across it.

Lunch was beautiful as usual, but Neville was starting to feel a bit tired of flowers, butterflies, and small, dainty sandwiches. It was no different from how his grandmother had spent summers with him since as far back as he could remember, but the older he got the less he enjoyed it. Besides, at his Gran's the men had always outnumbered her, what with his uncle always popping by, but here he was the one outnumbered.

Before dinner, instead of relaxing in his room after an exhausting day of gardening or wandering through the Herbology section of the library, he made his way down the door the staircase to the kitchens and made a plan with the house-elves for lunch the next day.

Grinning broadly, Neville was making his way to dinner when he met Snape when stepping out of the staircase's entrance.

"Erm, hello," he said awkwardly. "You're looking better."

"Of course I am," said Snape coldly, looking completely recovered. "Besides, nothing was amiss in the first place."

"Of course there wasn't," agreed Neville, though he did not look very convinced.

"More importantly," said Snape, abruptly changing the topic, "in order to plan our lessons, I need you to tell me how much sensitive information you've been entrusted with."

"I can show you the letter Dumbledore left for me, it's upstairs in my room," offered Neville.

"That won't be necessary," cut in McGonagall, reopening the door Neville had just stepped out of and gesturing for them to follow her onto the top of the staircase.

The air was cool, and her features looked softer than usual illuminated by the torches' light. Neville could almost imagine her as she had been many years ago, causing trouble with his uncle, carefree until bigger troubles had overtaken her. He shook his head, and the image disappeared.

"Snape, you were supposed to be in my office twenty minutes ago so I could check on you."

"You're not my mother," muttered Snape sullenly. "And I really do need to be told how much he knows. You only informed me of my part in the plan."

"The security level of the information he has is swordfish," said McGonagall calmly.

"What?" whispered Snape in the quiet tone of voice he reserves for making people in the room shut their mouths and sit up straight. "You mean to say he has been entrusted with swordfish-level information by Dumbledore and has absolutely no Occlumency training, as well as a strong Memory Charm placed on him reversed only a few days ago?"

McGonagall nodded, and Snape looked at her determinedly.

"Time to cast another Memory Charm, then," he said grimly, raising his wand.

"Snape, for goodness' sake!" said McGonagall as she pushed his arm back down. "Dumbledore did this for a reason."

"Dumbledore's reasons don't always mean a happy ending from his actions," sneered Snape, though Neville thought he caught a far-away look in the professor's eye for a split-second. "And if any Death Eaters find out Longbottom is being trained, particularly by me, many of our plans are going to be compromised. Especially if they get their hands on him, which isn't so hard considering his current skill level. And I don't particularly feel in the mood for dying a violent and painful death, though I might change my mind after a few more lessons with _him_," he ended, gesticulating towards Neville.

Neville muffled a laugh, pretending to cough, and Snape glanced at him. Did he just have the gall to _laugh _at one of Snape's jokes instead of whimpering in fear? Those sarcastic quips were supposed to be for Snape's enjoyment, NOT the pleasure of his students

"With the little time I have to teach him, there's no way for his mind to be secure soon enough!" he said emphatically.

"I understand. Longbottom, in addition to Friday and Sunday you will be spending however much time on Saturday Professor Snape deems necessary learning from him."

"But I barely have any free time as it is!" protested Neville, forgetting in the moment who exactly he was speaking to.

"I'm a double agent, Potions master, and teacher of snot-nosed brats," said Snape testily. "If you think I have nothing better to do than pamper you with the free time I get one day a week three months a year, the time I set aside untouched by Order business or meetings with the dark Lord to work on my Potions projects, you're more naïve than I thought."

And turning on his heel, he strode out of the staircase and slammed the door.

"I do believe you're beginning to grow on him," McGonagall said fondly as Neville wondered if inheriting the position of headmaster at Hogwarts automatically turned people loony.

"Now let's go upstairs and get to work."


	14. Flitterblooms and Foodstuffs

_Surprisingly, I have kept up the twice a week updates so far. Pretty sure I'm more impressed with myself right now than anyone reading this is. Hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you for reading! I'd like to keep up these updates, but am not promising having them as often since on Tuesday I'm going across the country to start college in New York. Yay, I'm officially a responsible adult!_

**Chapter 14- Flitterblooms and Foodstuffs**

This time Neville succeeded in warding the bowl of the spoon in only half an hour and they spent the rest of the lesson trying it on other materials, then increasing the size of the thing he was holding until he could ward a piece of wood the size of both his hands, fully outspread.

McGonagall looked ridiculously pleased and ended the lesson fifteen minutes early; a fortunate decision as Neville felt he was about to collapse from exhaustion.

"I am smart, I am strong I am brave," he said aloud to the ceiling after she left, remembering the proud smile McGonagall had given him and feeling less awkward than he had saying it the night before.

'Maybe I really _am _smart, strong and brave,' he mused to himself. 'Or at least one of the three.'

Meanwhile, outside Professor McGonagall was still smiling her secret, happy smile. Flitwick's homework was working perfectly, and the boy was mastering the material even quicker than McGonagall herself had- probably due, in part, to the fact that her teachers had all long been dead and gone and the most encouragement she had received in her word studies was a an eager, "D'you think I could use it to blast teachers away if they try hitting me on the hand with a ruler again?" Which became considerably less eager when she rejected the idea. Crazy Algie.

The next morning Neville woke up to the tapping of a barn owl on his window. He jumped out of bed and tugged on the latch, fumbling with it in his half-asleep state. The owl flew in and Neville held out his arm for it to land on, but it merely stared at him suspiciously and held out the letter in its claws, wings still flapping. Neville took the letter, careful not to be buffeted by the bird's wings, and the owl flew out of the window immediately, flapping away as though lives dependent on its expedient return.

Neville sat back down and opened the nondescript envelope, guessing from the bird's erratic behavior that it was a letter from Moody.

_Work is boring, I have eight times more paperwork than field work. How are you? Still hanging out with Terry Boot? I'm doing as well as usual considering all the danger surrounding us in these times. Remember: CON_S_TANT VIGILANCE!_

_Alastor Moody_

Okay, so apparently Moody had taken his note and ignored most everything Neville had written. Scratch that, he had ignored everything COMPLETELY. Or written a hidden message.

'What is it with the Order and codes?' wondered Neville, trying to figure out what on earth Mad-Eye meant. Then he unfurrowed his brow and shrugged. He'd just ask McGonagall. It was probably about eight anyway.

Looking at his alarm clock, Neville changed his mind. 'Who in their right mind sends an owl to arrive at four in the morning?!' he thought.

Remembering that Moody wasn't exactly in his right mind, he sighed and went back to bed.

The next morning Neville did not have time for any special work in the Greenhouse, since the fourth of the month was when Professor Sprout checked on all of the plants to make sure they were thriving.

"This job usually takes me about two twelve hour days of work," she said conversationally as she pulled back the leaves of a Fanged Geranium and gently trimmed it, her dragonhide gloves protecting her from its bite.

"Hopefully it won't take that long this time," said Neville, studying the next row of plants and trying to decide if they were Devil's Snare or Flitterblooms.

Sprout took a look at his thoughtful expression and sighed. "I already told you dear, if it's a summer midnight sky blue it's Devil's Snare."

Neville nodded and moved on to the next row; Devil's Snare never needed to be checked on.

"Neville?"

"Yes?"

"Those plants were more of a twilight blue. Also, the Greenhouse is arranged alphabetically, so after Fanged Geraniums come Flitterblooms."

"Of course."

Neville went back and started checking on the _twilight _blue plants. "Professor, have you found out any new information about the Mandrakes?"

Sprout frowned. "I have been trying to research them, but not many people are interested in philosophical questions when it comes to plants. I'm going to write to Miranda Goshawk when I get the chance; don't worry, I'll tell you if anything turns up." Wiping dirt onto her forehead absently, she grinned at him. "But if you want a plant to help, the blooming Wolfsbane is looking quite blue."

Neville laughed and finished checking his row of plants. "If we get all the way to Wolfsbane before lunch tomorrow it'll be a miracle."

"Miracles happen once in a while. Though we've already had one happen quite recently, so I wouldn't hold my breath."

"What kind of miracle?" asked Neville, elbow deep in a Flutterby bush.

"The having-you-here-so-I-can-have-a-normal-night's sleep kind."

View blocked by the quivering bush, all Neville could see of her face were her eyes, crinkled at the corners.

"No sandwiches? Or chairs" asked Professor Sprout, walking into the greenhouse to find an empty table.

"Not today," replied McGonagall, mouth twitching. "They said they had planned a surprise for us, all by themselves, and were absolutely not allowed to tell us who had asked them to. It's quite the puzzle, but lunch- whatever it is- should be here soon."

Neville could tell by the expression on her face that Professor McGonagall had a very good idea of who had asked them, but found that he did not really mind. Especially since he had just remembered he had something to ask her.

"Professor McGonagall, Moody replied to my letter but I don't-"

"We's done," came a voice from Neville's elbow, and he looked down to find Winky right beside him.

"You can tell me all about it later," said McGonagall, smiling. "I wouldn't want such an excellent person as Pomona to be kept waiting for her lunch."

"Okay, Winky, now is perfect," Neville said, and a moment later there was a large pizza on the table, and three worn-in wooden chairs around it.

"What is this?" asked McGonagall, raising a brow. "It seems familiar, but…"

"Oh, wonderful!" said Sprout, immediately seating herself as McGonagall took her seat as well, albeit more hesitantly.

"Where are the plates?" asked McGonagall helplessly.

"No plates, it's best when you eat it with your hands!" said Neville happily, sitting down and grabbing a slice.

"But you were just in the gardens for hours! You should at least wash your hands," said McGonagall, shocked.

"But there are a lot of nutrients in soil," Neville argued, taking a bite.

Seeing McGonagall's face, Professor Sprout felt the need to clarify. "Longbottom and I wear our gloves all day and wash our hands right before and after taking them off. _With _soap."

Heaving a sigh of relief, the smell of the food finally hit Professor McGonagall. "This seems to be adequate, but I still would like a plate and utensils like a human being."

Neville shrugged. "I figured you would, so Winky's bringing one in a few seconds. It was worth a try, though."

"What on earth is this thing?" she asked, gesturing towards the heretofore unnamed food.

"Pizza!" Neville said happily, grabbing another slice as Winky appeared with a pop. "I'm a growing teenager, I can't have tea parties every day for lunch. Next week we'll have turkey legs!"

'Not if I have anything to do with it," she muttered, picking up a piece of sliced pizza with her fork, stern expression melting into one of delight as the bite of deliciousness hit her taste buds.


	15. The Inanimate Being Who Lived

A/n: Yes I'm going day by day, but worry not, for I will soon start glossing over weeks, maybe even months, with barely a word! I just appreciated explanations as to how people get powerful instead of just 'after 14 years of secret training in the Incan magicians with runes too dark to explain on a thing so delicate as a computer, Harry blasted the dark Lord to bits and took of on a broom to live with his newly reformed, perfect guardian- Snape.' I also believe in legendary things such as 'plot development' 'life isn't perfect' and 'characters should be at least a BIT true to the book'. Yes I did just read a fic where Snape found out he was Harry's father and basically tortured the Dursleys for a week instead of just leaving them alone and taking Harry away. Beatings were involved- I highly disapproved and it convinced me to send out what I consider good-quality writing out into this netherworld of fiction.

EnjoY!

**Chapter 14 – The Inanimate Being Who Lived**

The rest of the day went by as usual, and before he knew it, Neville was inside his room at 7:55, waiting for Flitwick and relaxing his aching muscles.

There was a click from the door, and Neville grabbed his wand.

"Professor Flitwick?" he asked cautiously, hand pointed straight at the door (if a bit shakily)- he knew Flitwick was one to knock before entering. The door slammed abruptly open and he reflexively shouted "Expelliarmus!" then fell backwards onto his bed, startled.

Getting up on his elbows he saw Professor Flitwick at the door, a slow smile spreading onto his face.

"_Very _good," he said excitedly, stepping in. "Looks like Dumbledore picked the right person. Has your homework been going well?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's time for the fun part."

"You mean no more lectures?" asked Neville eagerly, sitting up completely.

Flitwick laughed merrily, wiping tears from his eyes. "That's a good one, Longbottom. Ha. Hum. I meant it's the fun part- I don't exactly enjoy talking, I'm more an action kind of guy. And I don't think it will take long for you to wish for a lecture."

And with a flick of his wand, the door shut.

After a thorough stretch with Flitwick, throughout which the Professor looked increasingly ridiculous, they both stood up.

"Now dodge this," said the professor, raising his wand.

"Dodge what?" asked Neville, a bit scared after Flitwick's ominous laugh- justifiably so, since the question caused the Professor's smile to widen until it seemed almost painful. With a pop, all of the objects in the room (besides their clothes. _Honestly, _you peopl!)e turned into pillows of various sizes and rose slowly into the air.

"This. And that. Oh, and that. Ooh, I forgot to warn you about the other one, didn't I?" said Flitwick, holding back a laugh as Neville got smacked full in the face as he twisted to avoid one of the pillows. "If you can't handle twelve measly pillows moving around you'll never defeat a dark lord!"

"I'm pretty sure you can handle the dark lord without me," puffed Neville before jumping onto one of the pillows and pinning it to the ground. "I bet you already summoned his nose and hid it away someplace, didn't you? Harry told me it was missing."

Flitwick laughed and easily lifted the pillow into the air, Neville still on it.

"Sorry Longbottom, I don't banish and tell. Also, you'd be well of treating these as full-fledged wizards, maybe someone like Dolohov or one of the Blacks. They're charmed to act in accordance to whichever spells you hit them with."

Neville's blood boiled at the mention of Blacks, but he quickly calmed himself down.

"Any spells?"

"Of course," said Flitwick, bouncing the pillow up and down while wondering how long it would take to shake it off.

"lautum conuiuium," said Neville, pointing at his pillow.

Minutes later, Neville and Flitwick were on the floor roaring as the pillow (originally Neville's blanket) told them of some of it's more… interesting owners.

"And then he stayed wrapped up for a month, convinced he'd turn into a butterfly?" hooted Neville, now cackling uncontrollably. "That's even better than the one with the man thinking you were an impostor of his real blanket, out to kill him, when a breeze moved you an inch to the right."  
"Yes, that one _was _quite barmy, wasn't he," said the pillow calmly. "And then he threatened to use my death to further immortalize his soul, calling himself Lord something or the other when he obviously had none of the manners needed to associate with the upper echelons of society. Luckily, after sending the killing curse at me he realized I was quite inanimate and sent me to the Hospital Wing here as a 'present' in case I was poisoned or some other nonsense."

Their laughter dying down, Neville and his professor both stared at the pillow with wonder.

"Er, you were Lord Voldemort's blanket?"

"Yes, that was his name, now that you mention it," replied the pillow thoughtfully as Flitwick started choking on his spit.

Patting his professor absentmindedly on the back, Neville continued asking the pillow/blanket questions. "You wouldn't happen to have been born at the end of June or know who made you, would you?"

"Of course I do," huffed the blanket. "I'm not some form of lower-class linen, like a bib or summat. I was finished on July 30th, as a result of some kind of project Lily and Alice decided to work on together while pregnant."

Flitwick's coughing finally stopped, and he stared at Longbottom.

"So McGonagall told you about the prophecy as well?"

"Actually, I read about it in _The Quibbler_," said Neville absent-mindedly. "Do you suppose the ability to go through a wash cycle and come out none the worse for the wear counts as a power the Dark Lord knows not? Because I'm pretty sure casting a killing curse at someone and then sending them far, far away would mark that- being as your equal."

Sighing, Flitwick shook his head. "It would be easier for us all if that were true but Neville, you know that's impossible. In addition to being crazy."

"Worth a try," shrugged Neville, wondering what the real 'chosen one' was doing right now and realizing it was probably much crazier and more demanding than anything Neville had to go through.

"Let's get back to work then! Finite Incatatem," said Neville, pointing his wand at the pillow.

"An admirable work ethic," said Flitwick happily, standing once again (not that it made much of a difference heightwise). "I'll even match your enthusiasm by staying an hour later than I'm supposed to! Now Neville, don't go feeling guilty about taking up and extra hour of my time," he added as Neville opened his mouth to protest (for a very different reason). "Your energy is infectious and I wouldn't be able to sleep for the next hour either way. En guarde!"

**Remake: **

"Avast, ye maties!" cried Flitwick, raising his wand into the air as thurnder rumbled. "Capture the target, and tickle him until he cries fer his blanky!"

"Aye aye, cap'n!" piped up an army of cute, fluffy bears that had been summoned from some dak universe.

Neville laughed. "They can't do anything to me! They're just stuffed animals."

Grumpy's eyes narrowed and he made a sound close to a growl.

"I think his insults be warranting a fate worse than mere feather wavin'. Let's show him the power of friendship, mates."

In an instant, Neville was hit with what felt like a sack of potatoes in his stomach as his mouth and nose were covered by a soft, fuzzy material he just couldn't seem to shake off.

As he started drifting into unconsciousness he heard Flitwick saying, "That's enough, me hearties. Um, me hearties? Oh powerful and respected demigods? I created you! Nooooooo!"

Then all became blissfully dark.


	16. An Unsurprising Guest

_A/N: Hey guys! Still alive here! Very tempted to just skip to the end of the story because I kind of love it, but I'm restraining myself. Barely. Stupid plot. Also, this chapter ran away and got married to my imagination. UNPLANNED._

**Chapter 16- An Unsurprising Guest**

After Flitwick left that night, Neville heard a tapping at his window. Opening it, he saw it was from Professor Sprout.

_Mr. Longbottom,_

_We're a day ahead of schedule thanks to you. Take tomorrow off; I'm giving myself a spa day, and the greenhouses will be locked just in case you're tempted. Don't worry, we'll more than make up for it afterwards- so make sure to get rest!_

_-Professor Sprout_

Neville placed a silencing charm on his alarm clock, and put McGonagall's notes on the nightstand near his bad, anchoring them with the spoon he practiced on. Stretching, he fell satisfiedly onto his bed and was asleep before he even had time to put on a blanket; an unconscious decision he regretted when awakened at eight by someone dumping a large pool of water on him.

Neville tried to shout, but was cut off by the steady stream of water on his face so it came out sounding a bit like "Aghblbl!"

Rolling out of bed with a thump, dazed, Neville viewed the gnarled man standing before him with surprise.

"Professor Moody?" he asked, drops of water still falling on him from his bed.

"You didn't realize your fourth year professor was just a polyjuiced version of me, so you have no real way of knowing. Speaking of which did you learn nothing from him? CONSTANT VIGILANCE! There's no better time for a surprise attack than when someone is asleep."

Neville stood up quickly, a frown pinching his brow.

"Professor Moody, you know I didn't ask you to come over so you could order me around. No one ever told me what happened the night my parents were… you know, attacked. No one really told me much about my parents at all. Sorry to be so curt, I just wasn't expecting you and…"

Moody sighed and summoned two pillows, transfiguring them into a pair of uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Sitting down, he gestured to the chair across him and Neville sat down quickly.

"You really should know, and you were too young to remember," Moody said. "Your grandmother hasn't told you anything about that day in all these years? Or their lives?"

"Not much," said Neville, staring at the floor. He wasn't about to tell anyone about what his grandmother had done to him if they didn't need to know.

"All right," Moody replied tersely, as though steeling himself. "Okay. Then I'll begin at the beginning…

* * *

I was the older Auror in charge of Frank. I knew your father from Hogwarts, and would sometimes walk into his office to find him writing a letter, grinning. Actually, he was usually grinning, despite the kind of work we did. I never really understood that.

Three years later, Alice joined our department. I was expecting her to be one of those little girls who grow up wanting to fight crime, romanticizing it into the kind of job where the good guys always come out ahead. She wasn't, though. You mother had a good head on her shoulders. And she didn't hold by any of that empty romance people seem to be so obsessed by either. I found out she was dating Frank when I saw a letter, written on his special stationary, sail through the air above my cubicle and dive into Alice's. Moments later, a tinny voice started singing about how lovely her eyes were, and I heard Alice stomp over to your father and shout, "I told you a million times, no Valentine's Day presents! I hope our children get the brains from _my _side of the family, because yours stink."

Moody paused, and looked at Neville.

"No offense," he apologized uncomfortably.

"No, no, go on."

A few weeks later, I was invited to their wedding. It was in your grandmother's garden, and more of a family thing. They were both beaming with happiness, the weather was beautiful, and Molly came over to help Augusta- your grandmother- with all the cooking. It was the last wedding we had before the war against Voldemort started.

We worked together for six long years. The war took its toll on everyone, and your parents put off having children in the hopes that it would subside before then. We accomplished a lot together; they say half the people in Azkaban because of me, but your parents were always in the thick of it with me. They were good separately, but even more impressive together. They knew their weaknesses and covered for each other flawlessly; together, we even blew up a few of the Death Eaters' safe houses. One of the times we did so, we saw a dark shape fly out. We had accidentally driven out Voldemort, and I was more than happy to engage him in battle, though Frank insisted on backing me up. Always the practical one, Alice grabbed the Portkey that was set to go off in a minute and grabbed both of us by the scruff of our necks right after Voldemort blasted off my leg. She saved our lives.

The next day they came into work separately, and your Dad seemed pretty angry. He didn't send any notes flying over my head the whole day, and at the end I pulled him aside.

"We're going for a drink," I told Alice, and whisked him off to the Leaky Cauldron.

"I didn't take you for the partying type," said Frank jokingly, but I could see his heart wasn't really in it.

"And I didn't take you for the type to hold grudges against your wife," I replied, giving him a dark look.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, this whole 'I need to protect my woman to feel like a man' thing is going to get outdated pretty soon. The number of female Aurors is growing every day, and there's no shame in being saved by one. Especially your wife!"

Frank looked at me tiredly.

"That's not what's going on," he said quietly.

"Oh."

I sat there uncomfortably. I had never really liked prying into others' personal lives, and I wasn't sure I wanted to get involved in what was going on between your parents at the time. Though in hindsight, I'm glad I did.

Frank buried his head in his hands, and then rubbed at his eyes with his palms wearily.

"She wants to have a baby."

"And you don't?"

"Not yet," he said grimly, catching the drink the bartender slid at him. "We're in the middle of a war."

I thought about it a while.

"We've been in the middle of a war for six years. Have you been arguing about this since the wedding?" Frank frowned at me. "No, we agreed at first. But when we got home yesterday she became adamant about having a kid, instead of waiting for the end of the war like we had decided. She said it's been six years, and she's not going to let the war stop her from living her life while she's got it."

I took a sip of my firewhiskey. "And you said that if it's been six years already, the war should be over soon."

He nodded.

"It doesn't look like it's going to be over soon, Frank. We only have enough people to respond to half the calls we have. And that's only the official ones. Maybe she's right."

"Well, so what if she is?!" he burst. "So what if the war isn't going to be over soon? I don't want to lose a child in it. I don't want _her _to lose a child in it. I don't want to lose-" he ended his sentence abruptly, taking a sip of his Firewhiskey and wincing. "I don't want to lose Alice."

Startled, I didn't understand what he was saying. "Frank, pregnant women are given a leave of absence. If you and Alice decide to have a child, she'll be safer than she is now."

"She won't," replied Frank glumly.

"I thought your house was protected?"

"It is," said Frank. "I'm saying she won't take the leave of absence. Alice wants to have a baby, but refuses to take off work until a week before the birth. It's like you said, Moody; we're drowning in work and don't have enough manpower. But I can't let her do that." "And you can't stop her," I said mildly. "Not once she makes up her mind."

He hesitated, then agreed.

"You _do _know it takes two people to make this decision. Alice wouldn't just go off and have a baby on her own with someone else. And she wouldn't force you into a decision you don't agree with." Observing him closely, I kept speaking. "You also want to have a child. And you don't want to wait for the war to end, even though you won't acknowledge it aloud."

Downing the rest of my drink, I threw a few Knuts on the table and stood up.

"You can't live your life in fear, Frank," I told him. "Go home, and talk to your wife. I expect to see airplanes whirring annoyingly over my head as usual tomorrow."

Turning, I left. But I could feel your father's eyes burning holes into my back until the door closed behind me.

The next day, I was sitting at my desk when I felt a draft over my head. Getting up to check the ventilating charms in the office, my head hit something and I pulled out my wand.

But it was only a paper airplane, made from Frank's stationary.

"Stupid lovebirds," I muttered, and dropped it over the partition into Alice's cubicle.

"Moody, why do you have to ruin moments of touching friendship?" asked Frank, looking over his partition into my cubicle.

"Get off your chair," I replied sternly, an effect that was ruined by the paper airplane that had flown back and was poking me in the head.

"The note's for you," said Alice helpfully, also putting her head over her cubicle's thin wall.

"Does no one practice basic safety anymore? I bet you keep your wand in the back of your trousers as well," I muttered as I opened the letter.

_Dear Moody,_

_Thanks for the help. Do you have any suggestions for the name of our child? We were thinking Clarice if it was a girl, Wilhelm for a boy._

_-Frank and Alice_

Looking up at their grins, I felt embarrassed.

"I don't really know what to say. Thank you, but I- I never really thought about any names for children."

Smiling at me gently, Alice said, "Don't worry, you have nine months to think about the answer."

Frank gave me a rakish grin. "To be more accurate, you have 8 months, 30 days and-" he yelped as his chair was pulled out from under him and Alice pocketed her wand.

"We should probably start thinking about who his godfather should be," she called sweetly as she jumped down from her chair, and I couldn't help chuckling.

We were busy during the next few months. I had started carrying around a few Portkeys at a time set to go off every few minutes so we could send back messages if we were in trouble and almost always have an escape route handy. Unfortunately, we needed them. With every time we went out we became more experienced, and with the number of experienced Aurors dwindling as the need for them grew, we were soon in the top ten Aurors. Too soon.

Eventually, we were sent out on a mission that was over our heads. The head of the department sent us out on an emergency mission to a house he had just received intelligence was being attacked. He didn't even have time to give us details; he just shoved a tree branch at us after saying there was an elderly couple in trouble and sending a worried glance at Alice. She was five months along now, and though more easily exhausted never acknowledged it.

A moment later, we were in a garden filled with trees and various plants. Alice's eyes grew wide and she started breathing quickly.

"This is my parents' house," she gasped, clutching Frank, who I saw had gone white. I saw the lights were on upstairs, but various flashes of colors were seen through the windows flying in every direction on the first floor.

"Stay here," I told them firmly, Disillusioning myself. Sprinting silently towards the house, I checked for open windows and found one directly to my right. I walked up to it and peered in. Flo and Neville were standing back to back and flinging out spell after spell, and though they were still quick enough to hold off the five Death Eaters they were against, I could see they were growing weary. I had one leg through the window when I heard a voice directly behind me.

"Hello again, Moody," said the tall, man silkily. "So nice to see you again."

He had changed since the last time I had seen him; he exuded a strong sense of power and- and wrongness. I knew I couldn't take him; if I had stayed there another moment, he would have killed me. Some may have thought it cowardly, but I grabbed the marble I had left on the windowsill and in a moment, was in the Portkey landing room we had designated to make sure that someone using a stolen Portkey could be easily contained and put away. After the Aurors on duty had undone the automatic restraining spells, I looked around for your parents. They weren't there.

A few days later they were back at the office, and after a week of silence told me what had happened.

Apparently, Lord Voldemort had attacked Alice's parents to draw us out. After I Portkeyed away, he assumed that your parents had as well, and left. Your parents ran in and fought off the Death Eaters, but they were too late. They were only able to recover the bodies.

That day did something to your parents. Your mother went home after that week and a half and your father grew more immersed in his work. I was growing worried, but I had gone through periods of my life where I had been just as intense, so I decided to wait it out. After two months, he started improving visibly, and Alice even came in to visit sometimes.

When there was only a month until the due date, she started glaring at me.

"What?" I asked neutrally. I knew that women in her state were often irrational.

"It's been eight months," she said pointedly.

"Congratulations," I replied.

"My _son_ needs a name," Alice said even more pointedly, jabbing a quill at me.

I stared at her, shocked. "You still want me to name your son?" I asked. "After what I did?"

Alice stared at me darkly. "You didn't do that," she said, with a large amount of vehemence for such a slight woman. At that moment I was thankful I hadn't. "And there was nothing you could do. Voldemort was standing right behind you and staying would only have gotten you killed, while leaving tricked him into departing as well. We should be thankful you still practice basic safety; he was close enough to grab your wand out of your back pocket if you had kept it there." By the end of her sentence, she was laughing.

"I'll try choosing a name," I promised, and was rewarded by her dropping a short stack of books about baby names on my table. In light blues and yellows, the titles hurt my eyes but I kept the stacks there as a reminder to go through The Encyclopedia of Deadly Light Wizards. No way was I giving you a pansy name like Humphrey.

After leafing through the encyclopedia in the little free time I had, I finally decided on a name. A week before the due date, I arrived at their house only to have the door swung open even before I knocked.

"Alice is in labor," Frank said quickly, and stuffed a baby bag into my hands. "Do you have a Portkey?"

"No," I replied, frowning. "Let's get outside the wards and Apparate."

"With her in this condition?" he asked, gesturing at his wife. Alice was standing right behind him, tapping her foot impatiently. "I'm _fine_, I'm not the baby here. Now let's go before I'm not."

Shrugging, Frank stepped aside so she could walk her to the edge of their grounds and then, looking both ways, they Apparated to the hospital.

I looked down. I was still holding the baby bag covered with small ducks; I followed them reluctantly.

At the hospital, the doctor said she was going to be fine for a few hours, and I gave Frank the baby bag.

"So what's our son going to be called?" asked Alice as she browsed their menu.

"Oh, I found the perfect name," I said with pride. "You're close with the Potters, right? Well, apparently his grandfather was a powerful wizard who stopped a madman from sucking China into a giant black hole. His name was Harry." Alice stared at me tearfully. "You chose the name Harry?" "Yes?" I said cautiously.

"Lily's naming _her _son Harry! We can't have the same name for our sons! She always had to come first in everything, she was always the one who beat me in Potions…" muttering feverishly to herself, she seemed to forget I was there.

"Go and find a new name. Quickly," your father whispered to me; I was gone before he had finished the last word.

"Excuse me," I stopped the first nurse I saw. "Where's the library?"

"Level four," she said briskly, and continued on her way. I always liked it there; the nurses saw so much daily, they were unruffled by my appearance.

I went to the library and, grabbing the first book I saw, decided to use an age-old, elaborate magic to choose your name. I opened the book and let it fall open, then looked at that page for a name.

_Flavius Mortuitus_

_A deadly plague that wiped out half of Brazil. Symptoms include boils, itchy noses, and uncontrollable crying, followed by three days of fever and then death. Incurable, survivors must be placed in quarantine for a week to determine if they have recovered sufficiently to not pass on the disease. The town in which this plague is observed must be burnt down, and a new village is sometimes built in its place and inhabited by the descendants of those who came before._

I frowned. I wasn't about to name you after a plague, but instead of closing the book I reread the last paragraph. 'New Village'… wasn't that what Neville meant? Alice's grandfather was called Neville.

Deep in thought, I accidentally replace the book in the Cookbooks section on my way out. Was it too soon? How would she be happy seeing a son who reminded her of her lost father every time she saw him? But I had determined that it was the right name. It just- fit somehow.

Arriving in the room, Alice turned to me. "Where were you? You think upsetting a woman about to give birth is funny?" she asked hotly.

Frank gave me an apologetic glance. "I told her about your plan to make her think you had chosen the same name for her son as Lily." "You did?" I shot him a wounded look and he hid a grin. More soberly, I told them what I had decided your name would be.

"Neville," said Alice wonderingly. "Like my father."

"Yes," I replied uncomfortably.

"Get over here right now," she said sternly, and gave me a hug. "It's perfect! Frank! We're having a son named Neville!"

"I know," he said with a calm smile, and came to hold her hand.

"We'll need a daughter to call Flo next!" Alice said excitedly, and I laughed.

"You should probably decide on that _after_ you have this one," I said. "I have to get back to the office; they're probably going crazy wondering where Frank and I are."

Going back to work, I was distracted waiting for Frank's Malagasy jumping rat Patronus to show up. How he got me to memorize the name of that animal, I'll never know.

Finally, after about eight hours of waiting I got the message.

"Neville's here, and we're having the family over," said the silvery rat, and then disappeared.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off," I informed my supervisor, and he nodded as I took my first sick day in my entire career.

Arriving at the hospital, there was a waiting line of people coming in to see you in twos and threes. When I finally got in to see you, you were so… tiny. You had your mother's nose, but your face was your father's. And your eyes were just like your grandmother, Augusta.

"Hello, Neville," I said, and you just stared at me sleepily. After a long glance, Alice held you up.

"You can hold him, you know," she said, but I backed away.

"No thank you," I said, but she continued talking.

"You just put your hand under his head, like this, and your other arm cradles him. He isn't heavy," she added, but I refused again and she gave up.

"We work to protect children like mine," she said, absentmindedly brushing an imaginary strand of hair from your face. "You're not going to hurt him."

"Even so, I'd rather not," I replied, and talked to them about rearranging the work schedules so Frank could get the nights completely off. I was determined to keep your parents out of danger; I knew the many problems that arise when a child is orphaned, and with all the lives they had saved they deserved to live out their own.


	17. Closure and Competence

**Chapter 17**

The next few months went by in a blur of danger and adrenaline. I found myself relying on the Order more and more often, while they started just treating me like part of the group after a while. Saving each other's lives on a weekly basis will do that to most anyone. Your first birthday passed, and nothing happened. We started expecting nothing would.

Then that October night came around, the one where the Potters were attacked and Voldemort defeated. Everyone was celebrating, letting down their guard. Your parents wanted to throw a party for the Order in their house and insisted I take down the Fidelius charm, but I didn't. The war had made me wary, and some of his followers were still out there.

They could have the party somewhere else; most every family was making one, so they went over to the Potters themselves to celebrate. When people were spreading the news, they didn't mention how Voldemort had been defeated- that the Potters were dead. They came back to their home and invited me as well as the Order over for dinner, a calmer affair than what was going on all over England. We may have won the war, but the battle had cost us. The Potters were good people; they were well-liked in the Order, and I felt a sense of loss though I had only known them in passing.

A few days later, we agreed it was time to remove the Fidelius charm. Most of the Death Eaters had been hunted down, and it wasn't possible to take down the Longbottoms unless they were far outnumbered. Besides, they had kept a low profile for the end of the war; to be honest, I was expecting to be attacked any day myself.

We removed the charm and I agreed to come over for dinner, since apparently rainy days are better when spent with friends.

I arrived a little early, planning to help out (and make sure nothing was poisoned), but I wasn't the only one who had decided to visit. I saw there were muddy footprints leading up to the house, at least four pairs of them. On the alert for anything unusual, I took my wand out and ran to the door with my eyes and ears open but didn't snense anything. Stepping over the broken door, I heard a creak somewhere to my right and turned. It came from the living room, and I headed cautiously in. Your parents were lying on the floor, and when I checked their pulses they were still alive. I heard a very loud crack from outside which must have been the attackers Apparating, but ignored it. I flooed St. Mungo's, telling them it was a medical emergency, and then checked the hiding place they had made for you. Opening the closet, I shoved the coats to the left and tapped the top brick three times. The back wall slid open to reveal you screaming your head off. I picked you up, and we followed your parents to St. Mungo's.

Neville sat and soaked in the story. It was good to know what exactly had happened instead of just guessing at it like he had for the first seventeen years of his life. He decided not to mention that Moody had been crying, but did have a different question.

"Why was your eye bandaged?"

Moody's eye swiveled to concentrate on him.

"How do you remember that?" he growled.

"It's the only memory I do have. I was crying, and a man with a bandage covering his eye picked me up."  
"It was lost in a fight I got into against some Death Eaters the day Voldemort was defeated. I hadn't had the time to replace it yet, but was planning on using the Eye of Argus I had bought in Knockturn Alley. Is that enough for your curiosity?"

"Yes," said Neville, cowed. "Thank you very much, professor."

"I was never your professor," Moody replied. "I heard about some of the things he did, and I would never, _never_ have done them."

Moody's blue eye stayed fixed on Neville, and he knew he was talking about the class with the Unforgivable curses.

"Some things are better learned in books," Moody said softly, and shrugged on his coat. "I hear you've been doing a lot of learning outside of just books though, haven't you?"

"Yes, Pro- Mister Moody."

Moody barked out a laugh, and leaned heavily on his cane.

"Well, keep at it. You've an excellent memory, and kids don't always get the talent of their parents but I think you may have."

"Yes sir."

"Next time I visit, drop the sir. Moody's good enough unless you're under my command," said Moody, and then walked to the door and stopped. "Well? Are you coming down to breakfast or not?"

Looking at his clock, Neville yelped. It was nine-o-clock already, and he was still in his pajamas.

* * *

The next two months passed by in a blur. Neville's lessons with Professor McGonagall and Flitwick were showing impressive results, and the Greenhouses were, well, _green_er than Professor Sprout ever remembered them being. The one problem was Occlumency.

"Close your mind!" barked Snape.

"I am ," replied Neville angrily, then had a flash of the night he slept outside the dormitory since he had forgotten the password.

"You're not, obviously."

"Gr."

"Did you just… growl at me?" asked Snape.

"I can't do this anymore!" yelled Neville, standing up. "I've been sitting here and clearing my mind for two months. TWO MONTHS! It isn't working! There's something you're not telling me!"

"I've told you all there is to know," replied Snape. "But you're right. There isn't really any point to you trying any longer."

"You're not going to convince me to try and prove you wrong," said Neville adamantly.

"No," said Snape. "Sit."

Trained by years in his class, Neville sat down automatically.

"Some people's minds are more adept at Occlumency than others. It's not the sort of skill anyone can learn if they work hard enough at it; some never can."

After a pause he added, "You're one of those people."

"So these past two months have been for nothing," said Neville hollowly.

"Not nothing," replied Snape mildly. "You can be quite amusing at times, and seem to fear me much less than you did at the start."

Neville laughed. "It was much easier than being more afraid of you," he replied, and Snape showed a rare smile.

"So I guess I'll be able to have a few nights off now you can't teach me anything," said Neville slowly, but Snape gave him an inscrutable gaze.

"Is there really nothing else I know that you would like to learn?"

"Well, we all know that I'd blow up the castle if you let me into your Potions lab again," said Neville with a chuckle. "So-"  
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Snape quietly. "You were always forgetting the instructions right after you read them. And we may be able to attribute that to your grandmother's meddling. Now that it's no longer an issue, you may be a competent student."

Neville didn't reply.

"Well?" said Snape, a tendril or anxiety creeping into his tone.

"I'm just soaking in the fact that you used my name in the same sentence as competent, without the word 'not' in between," replied Neville, his head snapping up. "Why do you want to teach me?"

"I do not believe in lying unnecessarily," said Snape plainly. "I may have a need of assistance in a very complex procedure later on in the year, but I need someone I can trust implicitly and who isn't an idiot. You seem to meet both of those requirements, but must also learn a bit about Potions to be suitable. Additionally, potions are a fine and delicate art, the learning of which is something every capable wizard must undertake."

"Okay," said Neville. "Erm, then I guess I'll see you around in a few days. In the lab?"

"In the lab," confirmed Snape, and Neville rushed out. Since when did Snape think him capable of anything?

That night, he slept the content sleep of those who know where they are headed, or at least think they do.


End file.
